


In Training

by iworshipyou_oliver



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Armie is not married, Armie never became an actor, Chapter 28 contains overt parental homophobia, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Upbringing, I promise it is light but it's there and it's only fair to tag it, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parent-Child Relationship, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Burn, Therapy, Timmy's still just starting out, again: dogs. actual dogs, and haven't quite let go of the past yet, because let's be real this is me we're dealing with, everyone pines in my stories, i really just want to assure you that the only puppies in these stories are actual canines, parental homophobia, probably, super light and sweet but still there, there is no other kind of puppy content here, they meet at an actual puppy training class, they're both moving on from sad situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 169,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iworshipyou_oliver/pseuds/iworshipyou_oliver
Summary: In an attempt to be a good dog dad, Armie takes his new puppy Archie to a public training class. Given that it's his busiest time of year at work, he's just barely showing up as any kind of dog dad at all, and can hardly afford distractions.Which would all be fine if there wasn't an intriguing guy at class—a delicate, beautiful guy with a boisterous Labrador puppy whoreallywants to be friends with Archie.And after all, who would Armie be to prevent them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't usually post until I've finished a story—as mitigation against my own ability to get overwhelmed (at work or just...generally)—but I think the fandom needs light, fluffy things right now, and this story contains ACTUAL fluffy things in the form of _puppies._
> 
> Sorry about any Britishisms, I'm not a US writer...

"Come on. Come on, Archie." Armie pulls on the lead. Archie's loose-leash training is  _ not _ coming along as smoothly as it could be. 

"What's your name, and your dog's name?" asks the woman at the sign-in table, barely looking up. 

"Armie Hammer, with Archie." 

"Thanks. Take a seat, and have your dog lie on his blanket." She sounds bored. 

Armie pulls Archie away. He glances up just long enough to see where he can take a seat, and makes a beeline for the closest one, on the left side of the room. 

On the way, Archie scrabbles on the wooden floor, pulling at the leash to get to the other puppies ranged with their owners down the side of the room. A tiny Dachshund that ignores him completely, chewing on a toy; a little Springer spaniel wagging its tail so hard the elderly couple holding it are having a hard time keeping it back; a tiny corgi that looks like a ball of fluff but has a surprisingly loud bark. And then—as Armie takes his seat—a sleek black Labrador puppy who bounces onto Archie with enthusiasm, paws raised in an invitation to play. 

Instantly Archie responds, and they roll around together, sniffing, licking and play-biting at one another's faces. 

"Oh—fuck, shit—sorry—Jesus,  _ Livvy—"  _

Armie has a confused impression of dark curls and hazel eyes, and then the Labrador is being dragged back by its collar. 

"It's okay, it's alright," laughs Armie, as Archie growls at the sudden removal of his new friend. "Archie, sit."

With a delay, Archie does as he's told. Armie gives him a treat and looks up to see who owns the Labrador. 

_ Holy shit. Striking hazel eyes—abundant curls, half falling across those gorgeous eyes—candy-pink lips and a jawline that could cut glass—  _

"Uh." Says Armie, stupidly. "Um. Hi. I'm Armie. And this is Archie." 

_ Fuck. What did I just say? Was it stupid? Was it even words?  _

The guy's biting his lip, staring down at the Labrador. He's physically restraining her between his knees, still holding her collar. 

"Timmy," he mutters, in return. "I'd shake hands, but I'd probably lose her forever. Or she'd flatten your puppy." 

Heart going a mile a minute, Armie laughs. "It's fine. It's how they play. They need the socialisation, right?" The guy doesn't answer, so he adds, "what's her name?" 

"Uh—Livvy. Olivia." He glances away, as if he doesn't want to continue the conversation, and Armie mentally tells himself to shut the fuck up.  _ Clearly he isn't interested in talking to me.  _

He reaches down and strokes Archie's head, trying to telegraph that the guy _ —Timmy— _ doesn't need to engage any longer. 

"So, uh—he's already trained?" Timmy's voice is kind of rough, deeper than it looks like it should be, given his delicate build. 

Armie looks up in surprise. "Oh, no. Not really at all, yet."

"He's good at sit." Timmy sounds jealous. "Livvy's more about dragging my arms out of their sockets right now." 

"Believe me, he's good at that too, when we're out on a walk," Armie laughs. 

"Well it seems like you're good at dog training. I'll probably ask you a bunch of annoying questions," mumbles Timmy, rubbing Livvy's ears. 

"Oh, no—it's my friend. He's a dog behaviourist and he's been helping me—" 

But then the class starts, led by a former police dog trainer with a direct, no-nonsense attitude. She runs them through treating for training, and gives them their first exercise: getting their dogs to 'meet' every other dog, a two-second sniff followed by a treat and then walking away. 

It's pandemonium immediately, fifteen puppies all trying to scramble and play while their owners drag them away from each other. Some of the dogs bark a lot, high-pitched due to their size. Somewhere in the mix, Armie and Archie meet Timmy and Livvy again; Timmy's red-cheeked and frowning, holding desperately to Livvy's leash. 

"You good?" asks Armie, trying not to grin. 

Timmy rolls his eyes. "Do I  _ look  _ good?" he asks. He sounds frustrated and worried. 

_ I mean…  _ supplies Armie's brain, unhelpfully.  _ Yes. So good. So damn good.  _

"Quick, give her the treat," encourages Armie, bending down to give Archie his. "They met pretty calmly. It was good." 

"Livvy hit him in the face," protests Timmy, giving her the treat. 

"Yeah, but they're puppies. That's calm." 

Timmy sighs, but he can't keep a slight smile off his face. "Whatever you say," he mumbles. "Guess I'll take your word for it. I know nothing about dogs." 

They're interrupted by the trainer telling everyone to return to their seats. Armie has to concentrate on getting Archie settled on his blanket and treating him to keep him there. The little dog is a coiled spring, watching Armie's hand for the treats; it's clear that all he really wants to do is jump up and zoom off to play with the other puppies. 

Armie watches Timmy out of the corner of his eye. He seems nervous, leg jiggling up and down, chewing on his lip. Livvy's looking up at him too, beautiful brown eyes soulful. 

Armie nudges him. "She deserves a treat, right?" he murmurs, nodding at her fairly calm behaviour. 

Timmy starts. "Oh—uh, right. Yeah." He gives her a treat from his pocket. "Sorry." 

Armie wants to say,  _ don't apologise, you didn't do anything wrong,  _ but then the trainer explains what they have to do next: one by one, come to the training mat that runs down the centre of the room, and use a treat to have their dog sit, walk, sit and lie, then walk again. 

As the first dog is walked up to the mat, Timmy turns tragic eyes on Armie. "She doesn't know how to do any of those things. I'm such a shit dog dad." 

Armie laughs, quietly. "Pretty sure no-one here knows how to do that stuff. We're being taught. It's okay." 

The first dog keeps wandering off to the other puppies, and doesn't seem that interested in the treat; the second straight-up has an accident on the mat, meaning a pause while a bleach-filled bucket and mop are fetched. 

Armie gives Timmy a meaningful look. "See?" he whispers.

Timmy puts his hand over his mouth, clearly trying not to let the dog's owner see him laughing. "Alright, alright." 

Armie has to look away.  _ I wasn't ready for how fucking cute you are when you smile.  _

When their turn comes, Archie does pretty well. He pulls on the lead all the way to the mat—he and the Springer spaniel want to play—but when Armie shows him the treat he does as he's told quite willingly. 'Lie down' is still shaky, but the trainer shows Armie how to draw the treat directly down from Archie's nose to bring him into it more easily. 

Timmy's already dragging Livvy up to the mat as Armie pulls Archie away, so he doesn't get a chance to offer any words of encouragement. 

The trainer watches Livvy closely and shows Timmy where to hold his hand at his side as he walks, how to draw it back from her nose to get her to sit, and down to the mat to have her lie. She doesn't do badly at all for her first go, although she ruins it slightly at the end by trying to jump up at the trainer. 

Timmy's blushing when he makes it back to where Armie's sitting. "At least she didn't have an accident," he mutters. 

Armie huffs a laugh. "It was good." He reaches out and strokes Livvy's ears. They're soft and smooth, unlike Archie's rough, wiry fur. After a minute he pulls his hand back, suddenly remembering that it might not be the best idea to start fussing with someone else's puppy. 

While the trainer talks about basic medical checks that you need to learn to do with your puppy, Timmy struggles to keep Livvy lying down. Armie's having to treat Archie liberally to make him remain sitting. "You're basically going to have had your dinner at this rate," he whispers to Archie, who just tries to lick his chin in response. 

"I swear Livvy's had most of tomorrow's meals too," mutters Timmy, out of the corner of his mouth. 

The next exercise is to keep the dogs sitting and relatively calm while the trainer greets the owners. Archie manages to stay sitting, staring maniacally at the treat, but wagging so hard he's almost thrashing across the floor. Livvy, however, decides that the treat is nothing to the possible love she'll get by jumping up at this new stranger. The trainer gets her back under control, but Timmy's flushed bright red by the time she moves onto the next owners. 

He groans, not looking up at Armie. "Jesus. This was such a mistake." 

Armie wants to pat him on the shoulder, but keeps his hands to himself. "It's normal," he whispers, instead. "Look, that chihuahua's doing exactly the same thing, it's just harder to notice because the thing's tiny." 

Timmy does look up at that. He searches Armie's expression for a minute, then grins. "Thought you were going to say, 'not a proper dog'." 

Armie snorts, and looks quickly away.  _ That was what I meant,  _ he wants to say. 

They're almost at the end of the class, and the trainer talks them through things to practice for next week. Once it's over, Timmy visibly sags into his chair, running his hand through his hair. 

Armie slowly collects Archie's treats and blanket. "Think I'm gonna give him a pee break on the grass out front before we go," he says, without looking up. "Don't want him going in the car." 

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea." Timmy sounds exhausted. "We'll come too." 

Leaving the community centre is as much of a scramble as most of the class, with all the puppies trying to take their last opportunity to play with one another before being dragged to their various cars. 

"Jesus Christ," mutters Timmy, as he tries to pull Livvy towards the grass. "What's it going to be like when she's actually fully-grown?" 

Armie smiles. "She'll be doing what you tell her to by then."

"Huh. I like your confidence, man." 

The puppies play-fight for a couple minutes, but then Archie finds somewhere to pee and that seems to remind Livvy that it'd be a good idea too. 

Most of the other cars are gone from the parking lot by the time they make it back to theirs. Timmy's car is battered and ancient, and Armie wonders when he bought it.  _ He can't possibly be old enough to have owned that for a long time. Must've been cheap.  _

He helps Archie leap up into the back seat of his own SUV, attaches the strap to his harness and closes the door on him. He watches Timmy luring Livvy into the back of the car with a treat, and tries not to be obvious about watching him. The curve of his spine, of his buttocks; the soft white nape of his neck, just visible under the curls which fall over it. Armie wants to lay his hand flat across that nape. 

He stands at the front door of his car, waiting to say goodbye. Timmy shuts Livvy in and turns around, hunching his shoulders slightly, dipping his head against the awkwardness of goodbye. 

"So, uh—I guess I'll see you next week," says Armie, trying to sound casual. 

Timmy nods. "I—hope you have a good week," he mumbles, looking up at Armie through his eyelashes. There's a short, awkward moment. 

Armie's heart kicks up as he realises that he's already started speaking again. "Which dog park do you use?" he asks. "It'd be good to get a recommendation. Archie only just got his shots so I've not really got in a routine yet and uh—"  _ stop talking stop talking. _ He shrugs, "—so if you have one you like…" 

Timmy hunches his shoulders a little further. "Uh—only the Lake Hollywood one. Once. Livvy only got her shots this week too. They don't allow dogs off the leash, though." 

Armie decides that Timmy's body language might be discomfort at his rather awkward gambit.  _ Back off. Jesus, he's probably in a relationship anyway. Look at him. _ He smiles, easily. "Okay, cool. Well I guess I'll try out another one. We can compare notes next week." 

He's reaching for the handle of his car door when Timmy speaks again, diffidently.

"Could I—I mean, warned you I might—if I have questions—" he takes a breath. "Maybe we could—swap numbers?" 

Armie tries to keep his expression impassive. "Yeah, cool." He takes his phone out of his pocket. "You want to give me yours? I can call you." 

Timmy nods, and recites the number. Armie calls him, just long enough for Timmy to nod again. 

"Sorry if I just, like, annoy you with questions," says Timmy. 

Armie shakes his head, trying to ignore the thumping tattoo of his heart. "Like I said, my friend's a dog behaviorist and trainer, so I can ask him stuff, if you have anything specific." Before his brain quite knows what's happening, he adds, "and I'll probably just annoy  _ you  _ with pictures of Archie. So." 

This time, Timmy smiles. "Yes please," he says, decidedly.

"Same," returns Armie. "Of Livvy, I mean."

"Okay." Timmy ducks his head. 

_ Is he shy? _ wonders Armie.  _ He does seem kind of shy.  _ "Okay." 

They smile at each other, and there's an awkward pause. 

"See you then," says Timmy, turning to put his hand on the car door handle. In the back seat, Livvy scrambles upright and presses her nose against the window. 

Armie laughs, and nods at her. "She's excited to get home." 

"She knows she'll get dinner." Timmy opens his car door and gives an awkward little wave. 

"See you next week." Armie climbs into his car and returns the wave as he starts the engine. 

*

It's two days later, while Armie's working on the year-end report for the Ravensford portfolio, that he finally gets a text from Timmy. He doesn't want to admit just how violently his heart lurches when he sees the name pop up, or just how often since they met he's wondered if he ought to text. 

Timmy:  **[video]**

Timmy:  **Livs is really into frozen carrot rn. a friend with a dog told me chewing sth cold helps with teething?**

Armie smiles. 

Armie:  **Yeah I've heard the same 🙂 Don't think Archie's started teething yet, although he did try chewing a radiator the other day...**

He wonders about Timmy's job.  _ Does he even have a job? Or is he a student? He looked like a kid, but with a car and a dog he must be in his twenties, right?  _

Armie:  **How's your week going? **

Timmy sees the message immediately, but there's a delay before he starts typing a reply. 

Timmy:  **alright yeah. not working until this evening so just hanging with Livs **

_ Shift work?  _ wonders Armie. _ A server, maybe? Or working in a theater?  _ He shakes his head at himself.  _ I need to stop.  _

Timmy:  **yours? **

Armie:  **End of year reports due in for most of our accounts. Working all hours. Archie's with a sitter most of the time 🤦 **

Timmy:  **so you're an...accountant? Lawyer?**

Armie grimaces. 

Armie:  **Investment advisor**

Timmy sees the message, but doesn't respond. Armie winces again. 

Armie:  **What do you do? **

Timmy's answer seems to take a long time to type, even though it's short. 

Timmy:  **actor. trying to be**

Armie:  **Cool. So you're in theater then, if you're working in the evenings? **

Timmy:  **just a small show. nothing recognizable **

Armie wants to type:  _ don't put yourself down. _

It's not his place, of course. He tries to figure out how to keep the conversation going. 

Armie:  **Tried any more dog parks yet? **

Timmy:  **not yet. figured i might try out another one tomorrow. guess our timings won't line up if you're so slammed at work tho? **

Armie can't help the little leap of his heart as he recognises the tentative invitation. 

Armie:  **Archie and I would love that but unless you want to go at 7am…?! Usually not finishing work until about 11 at the moment 🤦**

Timmy:  **jesus Archie's probably forgotten who you are **

Timmy: ** I can do 7, usually awake then anyway**

Armie:  **How? Why?! You must get back late if you're in a show**

Timmy:  **well unless i go out with people after the show i usually get home about midnight after picking Livs up from my friend's...then i'm hungry so i eat...crash out about 1 but it's the adrenaline or something. usually only get about 3 hrs before i'm super awake again then have to nap early afternoon**

Timmy:  **of course it's all extra fucked on saturdays with matinees so** 🤷🏽 

Armie shakes his head. 

Armie:  **That does not sound healthy man**

Timmy:  **probably not** 😂✌️ 

Armie:  **Ok well I volunteer to bring coffee tomorrow, since you will clearly need it**

Timmy:  **oh thanks**

Timmy:  **iced latte please**

Armie:  **Laurel Canyon, 7am, parking lot?**

Timmy:  **sounds good** ✌️

Armie smiles at the peace sign. He's not sure he even  _ knows _ anyone else who uses the peace sign emoji. For some reason, it makes his chest ache. 

*


	2. Chapter 2

When Armie pulls into the Laurel Canyon parking lot at 6:50 the next morning, there are only a couple other cars there and neither of them is Timmy's. He checks his phone again in case there's been a cancellation message, but there hasn't. 

Grabbing his rucksack, Armie concentrates on getting Archie's leash on him and helping him jump out of the back seat, then picks up the tray of coffees, locks the car and lets Archie lead him to some bushes he wants to sniff. 

It's five past seven when Timmy's battered old car swings into the lot. He parks hastily and bounces out, already apologising even at a distance. "Sorry," he calls, leaning into the backseat to put Livvy's leash on her. "Sorry. I just—had to stop for gas and then Livvy wouldn't stop whining so I pulled over to see if she was okay—" 

Armie shakes his head. He can't stop the grin that's spreading unstoppably across his face. _ Jesus, Hammer. Get a grip. You must look like a fucking weirdo. _Timmy's wearing faded, bleached jeans and a large white t-shirt. His curls are wild, and Armie wonders if this is what he looks like when he wakes up. 

Trying to shove the thought away, Armie holds up the coffees. "You must be ready for one of these." 

Timmy doesn't get time to answer, because Livvy's dragging him towards Archie at top speed, wrenching his arm as he turns back to make sure the car is locked. "Argh—Livvy—" 

Armie chuckles. "Better let them get used to one another again, I guess. They'll chill out after that." 

"Ha." Timmy says, ruefully. "Want to bet?" 

The puppies throw themselves on one another, leashes tangling immediately, and Armie laughs. "Let's take them in. They can run around together then." 

Timmy looks at him with wide eyes, surprised. "Have you been letting him off the leash?" 

Armie motions to his backpack with his head. "Long line. My friend told me about them. Apparently puppies are more likely to stick close to you anyway, so it's kind of safer to start getting them used to roaming around when they're little." He sets off for the nearest bench, letting Timmy untangle the leashes and drag Livvy away enough that they can make it there. Armie puts the coffees and the rucksack down on the seat, and takes out two long lines. "I brought my spare in case you wanted to let her have a try too," he says, holding it out. 

For a second, Timmy looks blank, but then he takes it, giving Armie a grin. "Oh—uh—thanks. I mean, I can buy one, we'll just borrow it for now—" 

Armie nods and takes a seat, pulling Archie back in and making him sit while he swaps out his normal leash for the long line. "It also means we can drink our coffee in peace instead of running after them," he says wryly. "Well. Until they start eating trash or digging up plants or something." 

Timmy wedges Livvy between his knees and swaps out her leash too. "Sounds familiar." He breathes an exhausted sigh as the puppies take off, rolling over and over, batting each other in the face, play-biting, chasing and growling. "Jesus. How do they have so much energy?" 

Armie casts him a sidelong glance. _ You're too young to seem so tired, _he thinks, curiously. Something about Timmy's expression suggests a deep, sad tiredness, rather than just exhaustion from an erratic sleeping schedule. 

"Young," says Armie. "Tiny mad puppy brains. Too dumb to know when to stop." He checks his watch. "Quarter past. So we need to stop them in like twenty minutes." He holds out Timmy's iced latte. 

Timmy takes it gratefully. "They get joint problems, right?" he asks, as he takes his first sip. "If you exercise them too much." 

"Five minutes per month of life, apparently," Armie shrugs, shucking the lid off of his own flat white and taking a sip. He laughs as Archie and Livvy streak past, chasing one another. "They're going to be exhausted. The sitter will be grateful. Archie'll probably sleep half the morning." 

Timmy acknowledges that with a hum, then takes another gulp of coffee through the straw. "So—if, uh—if you don't mind me asking—why'd you get a dog?" He takes a breath, then stumbles over additional words, as if worried he might have offended Armie. "It just kind of sounded like you have this super high-powered job and you work all the time so—not that I'm saying that—uh—" 

Armie laughs, interrupting the spiral. "No, I get you, don't worry. It was kind of the worst time for it. Mostly I'm pretty regular nine-to-five, but this time of year is always a nightmare. And I work at home two days a week usually, but…" he shrugs. "My boss is on edge right now and wants to see us all in the office. It was just bad timing, really, with Archie—I use that dogwalking app, where you can volunteer to pick up other people's dogs and take them out with you? And since I run, I did that. Kind of made friends with the people whose dog I first took out. And when they bred from her they offered me this idiot and I just couldn't resist." He looks down as Archie and Livvy come back to see them, panting heavily. Armie caresses Archie's ears. "They were going on holiday and couldn't keep him any longer, so I just had to take him even though we were going into my busiest time of year. Luckily they knew a good sitter who doesn't mind taking him for insanely long hours until I'm over the year-end bump." 

Archie snaps playfully at Livvy's ear and takes off running, chased at top speed by the sleek little Labrador. Armie and Timmy both huff amusement at the scene. 

"So—what about you?" asks Armie, through another sip of coffee. "Kind of seems like your job would make it difficult too." _ Plus you seem sort of out of your depth. No offence. _

Timmy looks away, then pulls on his coffee again. "You really want to know?" he asks, wryly. "You can probably tell I'm not exactly a natural dog owner." 

_ Of course I can. Christ. I've been wondering. _ Armie huffs a laugh. "Go on." 

"It was my boyfriend's idea," sighs Timmy.

Armie tries to ignore the cold, heavy feeling that settles in his chest. 

"Ex. Ex-boyfriend," corrects Timmy, looking away as if he's made an embarrassing mistake. He squints his eyes, staring into the middle distance. "We got Livs, then I found out he was cheating on me and told him to fuck off. He _ did _ duly fuck off, back to France, sticking me with a dog I wasn't even that sure about getting in the first place." 

"Oh. Fuck. Shit. Sorry, man." _ Stop talking. _"I mean—shit. What an asshole." 

Timmy laughs, drily. "Yeah. I guess you could say that." He still doesn't look at Armie, moving his gaze to the puppies instead, where they're rolling and play-fighting on the grass. "But—I wasn't going to send her to a shelter. So. Here we are." 

Armie gives a long sigh. "You said your friend looks after Livvy?" 

Timmy nods, staring down at the plastic cup in his hands. "Yeah. Well—most nights. And sometimes a sitter. But—you know how expensive they are. So." He clears his throat a little awkwardly, and Armie suspects that he may be feeling bad about having opened up. 

_ Would it help if I told you I got Archie because I left my fiancée and my job at my family's firm? That I have no fucking clue how to go forward from here? That sometimes the thought of seeing that dumb puppy when I get home is the only thing getting me through the day? _

"Your accent's New York, right?" he asks, chickening out. 

Timmy looks at him in surprise. "Yeah." He watches the puppies race past, rolling in the grass. "Guess I'll be going back there, too, once the run's over at the theater." 

_ Oh. _Armie feels an entirely inappropriate lurch of surprise and sadness in his chest. "Yeah?" 

Timmy half-shrugs. "It was Léo's idea to move here. My family are all in NYC." He says the name in a French accent. 

"You speak French." 

Timmy hunches his shoulders slightly. "Yeah. Uh—my dad's French." His mouth twists with sympathetic anticipation of Armie's amusement. "My name's actually Timothée." 

Something about the vulnerability of this little reveal makes Armie's heart ache. He smiles. "Timothée Chalamet." 

Timmy laughs. "Not too bad. You speak French too?" 

"Nothing like," chuckles Armie. "But thanks for asking." 

"Seriously though. I mean, most people _ really _ mangle it. So." 

"Well if you want to know something funny, my name's actually Armand Hammer." He waits for the inevitable washing soda question. 

Timmy wrinkles his nose in an amused little frown. "Huh. How does a child of Communists end up working as an investment advisor?" 

Armie laughs, silently enjoying Timmy's apparent lack of fascination with his last name. "Well. Very _ rich _ Communists. Hypocritical ones, I guess." 

Timmy huffs amusement. "Right. Okay." He bites his lip, then takes a sip of coffee. Looks like he's about to ask a question, then stops himself. 

"What?" asks Armie, fully aware that he really ought to stop staring at Timmy's delicate profile. 

"So—you manage money, right? I googled it after you said what your job is, but I'm still not sure I really get what you actually _ do." _

Armie sighs. "Yep. Literally just advising people on where to invest their money. What will work best for them, suit their lifestyle and the return they want—all that." 

"Right." Timmy still doesn't really sound like he understands. 

"It's boring," laughs Armie, looking away, taking a sip of his rapidly-cooling coffee. "I wouldn't bother trying that hard to understand it." 

"If it's boring, why do you do it?" asks Timmy, and from anyone else the question would be hostile or challenging, but from him it's just openly curious. 

Armie looks at him, surprised by his naiveté. "It was what my dad wanted me to do," he says. "I did it at my family's firm for a long time, advising on charity investments. But then, last year…" he trails off. "Well. It was time for a change." 

"Of company?" asks Timmy, eyes green and curious. 

"Yep. I'd worked at the Foundation since business school." Armie shrugs. "Long enough." 

"Foundation?" 

"Oh. Uh—the Hammer Foundation. My family's…" he looks away. 

"Shit. When you said rich, you meant _rich _rich." Somehow, Timmy's amused tone doesn't make Armie as pissed as it usually would coming from anyone else. 

He turns back to look at him again, and shrugs. "I guess." 

"Sorry," says Timmy, laughing awkwardly. "I shouldn't've said it like that." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "It's fine. Honestly." 

"So...why change company?" asks Timmy, inquisitively. 

"Oh…" Armie sighs, and turns to meet Timmy's gaze. "You want the truth?" 

"Go on," returns Timmy. "I already embarrassed myself by telling you about Léo." 

"No you didn't. Okay. I kind of...changed everything. Broke up with my fiancée, and she was—well." He hesitates, trying to figure out how to put it. "In a family like mine, _ legacy _ is important. She was—just who my mom would've chosen for me. For the family. For—kids. The future. You know. We got together when I was twenty-two—met at business school—and we were together eight years. Everyone kept asking why we weren't married, and _ she _kept asking why we weren't married, and—and I could never quite answer that question to my own satisfaction, let alone anyone else's." He watches the puppies. They've flopped down next to one another in the grass not far away, a temporary truce from the play-fight. "We should give them some water," he says as he digs in his backpack for the bowl and bottle. 

"So? Why was it?" asks Timmy, and from him, Armie doesn't seem to mind the question. It comes easily, naturally, without preconception or agenda. 

Armie's heart hammers in his chest. He pours water into the bowl, next to him on the bench. "I'm...not so sure I'm as straight as I always thought," he forces out, through a dry throat. "Or—always told myself, anyway." He swallows. "My mother's Pentecostal. It—I guess it's not a surprise I never really let myself think about it." 

Timmy gives a quiet, acknowledging hum. "Right." He turns to look obliquely at Armie. "So—why now? Did you tell them?" 

Armie shakes his head. "No. But…" he shrugs. "It won't be _ good _ news for her. Ever. So I decided to get away. Put a little distance." _ Make sure everything wasn't tied to the family. _ He huffs a laugh. "It's all academic, anyway. I've no real idea _ what _I am. Guess what? I've got a therapist now." He laughs. 

Timmy looks at him, gaze unflinching. He smiles, but doesn't laugh. "Do they live here? In LA?" 

"Intermittently." Armie waves a hand. "They're divorced. My mom's in Dallas mostly, my dad's here and... everywhere, a lot. Yachts." 

Timmy shakes his head slightly. Then, "so you didn't change _ everything." _

"Huh?" 

"You still live here." 

Armie calls to Archie, putting the bowl down on the grass. "I...guess not." 

Archie screeches to a halt in front of the bowl, drinking in great thirsty gulps. Livvy tries to shove in too, and Armie laughs, topping it up with more water from the bottle. 

"Sorry," sighs Timmy. "I have a bowl and bottle in the trunk of my car…" he looks around like he ought to go and get it. 

Armie gestures at the dogs. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. They're good." 

Timmy relaxes again. "You're a much better dog dad than me." There's an air of ease between them now, Armie realises: confidences shared and exchanged have brought them closer. 

Armie shakes his head. "I've had more training." 

"It still doesn't feel real, you know? That I'm suddenly a single dog parent." Timmy says it with a wry inflection. "Pretty sure my parents won't be pleased, when I move home." 

"You'll have to move back in with them?" Even the thought makes Armie unreasonably miserable. _ You just met him. Chill. _

Timmy laughs, giving Armie a sidelong look. "You think I can afford to get a place in NYC? Basically the only good thing Léo did before he left was agreeing to pay out his share on our apartment here until the end of the lease. I don't know what work will be like back home…unless one of my friends wants to share—and doesn't mind having a dog—then yeah. I'll have to move back in with my parents." 

_ How long's the lease? _Armie wants to ask. 

"How will that be?" he asks, instead. 

Timmy smiles. His expression conveys awkwardness, apology. "It'll be fine, really. They're good. And after the first twenty minutes the dog will have my dad totally whipped, so." 

_ They're good. _Armie tries to imagine being able to sum up his parents in two such easy, familiar words. 

"Well, that's the important thing," he says lightly. "As long as _ she's _ happy." 

"Ha." Timmy looks away to where the puppies are rather half-heartedly chasing one another. "We should stop them, right?" 

Armie checks his watch, surprised to find it's already been twenty-five minutes. "Yes. Sorry. Yeah. And…" he sighs reluctantly. "I can't stay too much longer." He calls for Archie, rattling the box of treats he'd brought with him to lend a persuasive argument to the recall. 

When the puppies return, they swap out the long lines for leashes again. Armie gathers everything he brought into his rucksack, while Timmy carries the empty coffee cups to the nearest trashcan. 

"Did you see if they peed?" asks Armie, on the way back to the car. "I wasn't paying attention." 

"I saw Livs go at least once," laughs Timmy. "Sure Archie will have too." 

"Fingers crossed," says Armie drily. "Otherwise the upholstery of my car'll be christened." He concentrates on helping Archie into the back of the car and clipping him in, stealing glances at Timmy doing the same with Livvy. 

When they both straighten up, Armie clears his throat, pressing the palm of his hand against the top rim of the driver's door. "So, uh—I guess you're going home to sleep, huh?" 

Timmy nods. "Hopefully. Yeah." He looks away towards the gate of the park, and back. "And I hope you have a good day at work." 

"Ha. So...I guess I'll see you Sunday evening?" 

Timmy nods, ducking his head and looking up at Armie from behind the errant curl that seems to fall so readily across his forehead. "Sure." 

There's a moment of silence, and then they both awkwardly smile at the other. 

"See you later, Timmy." Armie half-waves as he gets into his car. _ Did I just wave at him? _

_ I think I did. _

He puts the car in drive and pulls away, feeling a strange tug behind his heart as the distance lengthens between them. 

*

It's just past ten when the dog sitter calls, with the news that her kid is sick and she needs Armie to pick up Archie as soon as possible.

Armie rubs his eyes, checks his watch, swears, and does what he always does: calls Nick.

"You finally emerging from your year-end pit?" is how Nick answers the phone. 

"Nope, sorry man. And I'm only calling you for a favor, because I'm meant to be on the phone with an investor in ten, and I can't miss this call or I won't get this account closed before the deadline." 

Nick sighs. "Brilliant. Speak." 

"Can you pick up Archie for me? The sitter just called to say her kid's sick, and I can't miss this call." 

"You realise the puppy probably loves the sitter more than you at this point?" 

"Ha fucking ha. Yes or no, dickhead?" 

"Well, that's nice, isn't it. Yes. Fine. I'm getting my car keys." 

"I'll be by to pick him up...well, I don't know when. But I'll text you." 

Nick laughs. "Nope. I'm taking him to yours. No way I'm letting him chew _ my _sofa. And also I'm drinking all your beer." 

"He doesn't chew sofas."

"Oh, the sitter's raising him well." 

"Screw you, man. And thank you." 

"Go fuck yourself." Nick puts the phone down. 

Armie grins briefly to himself—then has to prepare for his call.

*

By the time Armie gets home Archie's asleep on the sofa. He's huddled up to Nick, who's watching reruns of _ Frasier, _ yawning, and nursing a beer. 

Armie pushes off his shoes and pads into the living room, patting Nick on the shoulder. "Shit. I'm sorry man." Archie stirs, yawns, but doesn't wake.

"This is dog abuse at this point, Hammer. Pretty soon he'll have learned how to make himself dinner and cry himself to sleep." 

Armie collapses onto the other end of the sofa and puts both hands over his face. "Don't. I just have to get through to the end of this week. I've booked three days off. It'll be a five-day weekend. I'll be the best dog dad in LA." He can't help thinking of Timmy as he says it. 

"You don't even _ like _ your job. Is it really worth all this?" 

Armie shrugs. "What else am I supposed to do, huh? Jesus, Nick, you're so fucking—is _ this _ really the time?"

"Well, I've barely seen you in weeks. When else am I supposed to start shit with you?" 

Armie can't help laughing. "Alright, alright." He looks away. "But I don't know, okay? I have no fucking idea. This job is…it's what I do. What I've always done. And right now I'm too tired to…" he shrugs. 

"You're always too tired. Because the job you hate _ keeps _ you tired. You're in a cycle, man. You make so much fucking money—because I _ know _ you make your bonus every year—but you never actually _ do _ anything to spend it. I mean—when was the last time you went out? Had fun? Tell me where you've actually _ been _that isn't work in the past week." 

"You know the past week isn't representative." 

"Hmm. I know it mostly is." 

Armie rolls his eyes. "Running. Gym. Puppy class. Dog park." _ Therapy. _

"Fun." 

Armie presses his lips together, trying not to smile. He wants to pull Archie into his lap, cuddle him, receive a lick to the palm that tells him he's okay. _ I shouldn't disturb him. _

"It's fine. They're all kind of fun." 

"Right, but they're not…you're not moving on with anything, Armie. After—you're not dating. Meeting people. Even seeing your friends, much." 

Timmy's messy curls and green eyes flash through Armie's mind. He shrugs. "Most of my friends were—our friends. I don't know. I'm sick of being asked about—" he gestures generally. "Everything." 

Nick sighs, and finishes his beer. "People are just worried about you." 

"And curious." Armie says, wryly. "Which is fine. I just don't have any answers." 

"What, so you broke up with your girlfriend—fiancée—whatever—of _ eight years _ for no reason?" Nick rolls his eyes. "You realise your _ mom _ called me to find out why?" 

Armie grimaces. "Ugh. Sorry." 

"Well. Obviously I couldn't tell her anything." 

_ Good. _Armie shrugs. "Sorry," he says, again. 

Nick sighs. "Look, Armie—I'm not heartbroken you broke up with her or anything. I just don't understand why you've…retreated like this." 

Armie slumps down and lays his head back on the sofa. "Just busy." 

Nick throws a cushion at him. "You're using this job as a way to avoid living." 

"You're an armchair psychologist." 

"If your dad calls me to find out why you left the Foundation, I'm out." 

Armie laughs, pulling at his own hair. "That's fair." He yawns again. "How many beers did you have? You need to crash here?"

Nick shakes his head, leaning forward to put the empty bottle on the coffee table. "One. And nope. I'll leave the sofa to your furry brat." 

"As if. He'll be in with me in no time." 

"You live a sad fucking life, Hammer."

"Get out, dickhead." 

*

Armie: **[image] **

Armie: **What was that you were saying about me being a good dog dad? This is me leaving Archie at the sitter's yet again at the crack of dawn. Look at that face. He's not impressed **

Armie sighs and puts his phone down. He takes a gulp of coffee and tries to concentrate on the report in front of him. 

Timmy: **oh man he does a good sad puppy face **

Armie: **My friend Nick says he probably thinks of the sitter as his actual human at this point **

Timmy: **ouch. how's your work nightmare going? **

Armie: **Two more days. Two...more...days… **

Timmy: **that's the deadline? **

Armie: **Year end, yes. Then five days off, because I need to sleep and try to bond with Archie again**

Timmy: **i think your friend nick is a troll + archie knows perfectly well who his human is**

Armie: **Could be, could be **

He's too tired to think of witty responses, much as he might want to. He lays his phone down again, and concentrates on work. 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments ❤️

Armie doesn't actually get home until one in the morning on Saturday. Archie's asleep in his crate in the living room, settled there by the sitter a couple hours ago. 

Grabbing a glass of water, Armie heads exhaustedly for his bedroom, and crashes out. 

When his alarm goes at six, he only just remembers that the reason he absolutely definitely  _ does _ have to get up is that Archie will need to go out to pee. 

He nearly trips over as he drags on jeans and an old t-shirt, reaching over to turn off the alarm on his phone. He pushes it and his keys into his jeans pockets, and goes to fetch Archie. 

Downstairs, while Archie snuffles at the grass, Armie checks his phone. There's a text from Nick. 

Nick:  **Now year end's over I'd better be receiving a number of invitations to hang out and several free beers **

Armie just sends an eyeroll emoji in return. His heart does an ungainly flop in his chest when a text from Timmy comes in too. 

Timmy:  **congratulations on your freedom. Livs sends her goofiest smile **

Timmy:  **[image] **

Armie:  **That is pretty goofy. Your pup's too cute. **

Timmy:  **tell me that again when she's chewing the carpet **

Armie:  **Ouch. How are you doing? **

Timmy:  **fine. can't sleep even tho i was out til 3 **

Armie:  **Wow. Why? **

Timmy:  **a friend from the cast's bday. we all went for drinks after the show **

Armie smiles through a yawn. 

Armie:  **Sounds fun, but I meant why can't you sleep?**

Timmy:  **oh. idk. worrying about pointless shit**

Armie:  **Yeah?**

Timmy:  **money + getting work once i get home...stuff i can't realistically do anything about for a few weeks but my brain's going to keep freaking out about it in the meantime i guess **

Armie's heart sinks.  _ A few weeks.  _

Armie:  **The theater run lasts a few more weeks?**

Timmy:  **yeah + the lease on the apartment runs out a couple weeks after that. guess i'll have to get something super short term to cover the gap tho tbh i could probably get a barista job in the daytime rn with how little i sleep 😂🙄 **

Armie shoves his phone in his pocket and uses a bag to clear up after Archie, who's now sniffing at some invisible scent trail. He picks up the little puppy and walks back up to his apartment. He feels awkward seeing Timmy worry about money, knowing just how much he himself has made over the years in his lucrative job.

Armie:  **Don't do that. Livs needs you 🙂 **

Timmy:  **seriously do u also feel like a new parent? it's...a lot. i'm kind of overwhelmed tbh **

Armie:  **I've been such a crappy dog dad the past couple of weeks I haven't even had time to feel like that! Sure it'll kick in around 11am today… **

Timmy:  **haha. that's a record! sometimes she makes me want to cry by 8am **

_ That's because you're sleep deprived,  _ thinks Armie. He closes the apartment door behind himself and deposits Archie next to his water bowl. 

"Let's get you breakfast," he says to the little dog. "And then we're going back to bed. Dad needs to sleep at least two more hours. Please." 

He pours Archie's kibble into his bowl, gets the excitedly-bouncing puppy to sit and wait, and puts the bowl on the floor. "Wait...wait...okay," he says, allowing Archie to descend ravenously on the kibble. 

Armie:  **I get you. Praying Archie lets me sleep some more **

Timmy:  **what time did u get home? **

Armie:  **1am. And then Nick was here for a while because he had to pick Archie up from the sitter for me **

Timmy:  **ur job is insane **

Armie:  **So's yours 🙂**

He puts Archie's empty bowl in the sink and runs hot water into it, then calls the puppy after him into his bedroom. He groans as he strips off his jeans and t-shirt, then clambers under the duvet. Archie leaps on the bed and tries to lick Armie's face, but curls up next to him when Armie pushes him away. 

Timmy:  **what u doing with ur first day of freedom**

Armie sighs and runs his hand through his hair, then reaches down to rub Archie's ears. 

Armie:  **Honestly I haven't even thought that far. Sleep. Nick threatened to disown me if I don't hang out with him **

Timmy:  **ha. u been a work hermit? i should let u sleep**

_ More a hermit because I don't want to face a barrage of questions that all really add up to: why did you break up our comfortable group? We were used to things the way they were, and now something we don't understand has happened.  _

_ Half of them probably only liked me for my name or money, anyway.  _

Armie:  **You really should sleep too **

He scrolls back up the conversation as he waits for Timmy's reply.  _ He asked what I'm doing with my day...was that just making conversation, or did he want to meet up? Wait, no, doesn't he have a matinee show on Saturdays? _

Armie:  **How about you? You got two shows today? **

He replies immediately. 

Timmy:  **yeah. going to be a wreck on no sleep**

Armie:  **Day off tomorrow?**

Timmy:  **yup so hopefully will sleep then**

_ Hopefully. Jesus. When does he sleep?  _

Armie:  **Hopefully?! You worry me. Tell me you're doing all the tiring things: gym, shower, hot milk **

Timmy:  **gym lol **

Armie laughs, then frowns.  _ Wait, is he saying he can't afford it?  _ He shifts the pillow restlessly, propping it more comfortably behind his head, realising more than ever just how long he's moved exclusively in circles of monied people. 

Timmy: ** i don't do the gym** 😂  **couldn't you tell?**

Relieved, Armie smiles. 

Armie:  **It's not polite to assume… **

Timmy:  **assume away. the gym is the worst **

Armie:  **Always helps me sleep though **

Timmy:  **at least Livs is making me walk more i guess **

Armie:  **Timothée Chalamet you need to sleep**

Timmy:  **oh jesus mom, okay**

Armie:  **Wait it doesn't have the full mom effect without your middle name**

Timmy:  **hal** 😉 

Armie:  **Timothée Hal Chalamet. That's nice**

Timmy:  **my grandpa's name was harold but my mom says they couldn't do that to me** 😂 

Armie:  **Lucky. Mine's Douglas. Armand Douglas Hammer. **

Timmy:  **ruins the communist effect. i like doug tho**

Armie:  **You're the only person who does**

Timmy:  **go to sleep armie doug hammer**

Armie:  **You too** 👀 

Timmy: 😂✌

*

When Armie wakes, Archie's stretched out warm along his side. The little puppy is on his back, snoring. 

_ He's probably got no idea why I'm still here at this time, _ thinks Armie, squinting at his watch.  _ But he's clearly capitalizing.  _ It's ten past eleven, and Armie knows he'll need to get up and take the little dog out to pee again. 

He checks his phone just in case Timmy's texted again, then tries not to notice his own disappointment when all he sees is a missed call from his mother, and a couple WhatsApp groups that he needs to mute. He's basically absented himself from the conversations, because Liz is still a part of them. He swipes the notifications away and yawns, rubbing his hand through his hair. 

He opens his conversation with Nick.

Armie:  **Beers tonight? Here, so I don't have to get a dogsitter? **

Nick texts back right away. 

Nick:  **Sure. Order Mario's? I'll bring chips **

Armie:  **See you 7** 👍

Groaning, Armie sits up and scratches Archie behind the ears. "Come on, you. You're gonna need to pee, and then we're taking a twenty-minute run. And it's only that short because you can't go any further. I need some fucking exercise," he mutters to himself as he watches the puppy stretch, belly exposed in an unsubtle plea for tummy-rubs. 

Armie thinks about beautiful, striking Timmy who never goes to the gym, and vows to go again himself as soon as possible. 

_ Because it helps me sleep, and makes me feel good.  _

_ And maybe Timmy would be up for the dog park on Sunday.  _

*

After their short run, Archie collapses panting on the sofa while Armie takes a shower. 

Armie pulls on his plum jeans and a soft grey sweater, then makes himself chicken salad for lunch. He feeds little pieces of chicken to Archie, who sits very nicely for such a valuable bribe.  _ Maybe I should use chicken at the class,  _ thinks Armie, with a smile.  _ Maybe Livs would be more tractable using chicken too.  _

_ Not that she's my dog. But.  _ He itches to text Timmy about it, and to ask him whether he wants to go to the park tomorrow; but he also hesitates.  _ Too much? I mean, we'll be seeing each other for class tomorrow evening anyway.  _ He doesn't want to seem weird. 

Archie's not ready to be left on his own tied up outside the grocery store; he'd throw himself under a car or jump up at people, trying to be friendly. So Armie parks in the shade and leaves him in the car with a window cracked, hurrying into the store. 

He picks up a couple kinds of beers, as well as some more fruit and vegetables. His diet had descended to hastily-grabbed junk food of various sorts during the year-end frenzy, and he's determined to try and get back to normal again. He feels frankly unhealthy after sitting so much and eating so badly. He grins to himself, imagining the comments Nick will make when he sees salad appearing alongside their pizzas from Mario's.

Archie is very quietly whining to himself by the time Armie gets back to the car. 

Quickly he deposits the grocery bags in the trunk and comes round to pet the puppy's ears. "Hey, boy. It's okay. I was just picking up some food. You'll like the chicken I bought, too. More of that lovely stuff from lunchtime, yes." 

Armie spends the afternoon doing several loads of laundry and cleaning the apartment, which is in a state after being neglected for so long. He hangs up several of the suits he's worn recently to take to the dry cleaner's; wears his crappiest jeans and t-shirt to scrub the showers and toilets, listening to music. Archie gets a lot of his kibble as treats to keep him sitting in the bathroom doorway, away from the cleaning products that he's  _ very  _ interested in investigating with both nose and tongue. 

Armie vacuums the entire apartment one-handed, hugging Archie in the crook of his other arm, attempting to comfort him and get him used to the loud sound of the vacuum cleaner. He finishes off the laundry by changing, washing and drying the sheets on the bed. 

By the time he's done, he's very much looking forward to beers with Nick. Sweaty after his work, he takes another shower and changes into better jeans and a sweater, then collapses onto the sofa with Archie to watch something dumb and wait for Nick. 

He plays with his phone, wanting to text Timmy but still unable to make up his mind whether to do so. 

_ You only just met him. It's not normal to be this obsessed with someone right away. Chill the fuck out. _

*

"You ordered the pizzas yet?" asks Nick as Armie opens the door. He ignores Archie jumping up at him, and dumps several bags of potato chips into Armie's arms. "You still want me to ignore the furry brat?" 

Armie nods. "Yep. Until he's got all four paws on the floor." He laughs. "Jesus. How hungry did you think we'd be?" 

Nick grins. "I'm starving. Never go to the store hungry, right?" 

"Have some salad," says Armie, walking into the kitchen and putting the chips down on the counter. "I made plenty." 

Nick rolls his eyes, then bends down to pet Archie, who's finally stopped leaping into the air. "There he is! There he is! Suddenly I can see a furry brat in the room," he croons. Archie flops over onto his back, exposing his belly for tickling. "He was invisible before." 

"He was." 

"Why are you on the salad kick?" 

"Because I feel like a flabby grey lump after the past two weeks." 

"And look like one." 

"Fuck you." 

Nick shrugs. "It's like watching a gross centipede emerge from under a rock, all albino from lack of sunlight." 

_ "Fuck _ you." Armie grins and ladles himself out a bowl of salad. "Help yourself if you want some." 

"You could just quit the job you hate, then we all wouldn't have to go through this every year." 

"'We all'. Like it has  _ any _ practical effect on your life." 

"It's fucking painful to watch." 

_ "You're _ fucking painful to watch." 

"Good one. What are you, twelve?" 

"Your mom doesn't think so." 

"That doesn't even work." 

"Your mom says it does." 

"Oh my god." Nick rubs Archie's belly. "Your dad is the worst. What did you do in a past life to get such a shitty human, huh?" He looks up, eyes sharp. "Talking of moms, have you taken your mom's calls yet?" 

Armie narrows his eyes. "Smooth. No. Because I don't want to and I'm not going to." 

"You realise she will just turn up here at some point?" 

Armie sighs, dropping his gaze to where Archie is now lying on his front, sniffing interestedly at Nick's shoes. "He's going to try eating your shoelaces." 

Nick groans and rolls his eyes. "You can't just avoid this forever." 

Armie puts down his bowl of salad. "Look, Nick, I know you mean well, but—I'm not—what can I say to her? I didn't want to marry Elizabeth and I thought it was pretty shitty to keep pretending I did. So I ended it."

Nick takes a seat at the breakfast bar. "Okay...but that was eight years, Armie. People—I don't know. Eight years is a lot, man. People just wonder what was so wrong. I mean—you got engaged." 

Armie sighs. "I was—we were young when we met. I'm not sure I knew—knew what I wanted." He swallows. Apart from Timmy and his therapist, he's never told anyone else that he's come to realise he isn't straight; he's pretty sure he still feels desire for women anyway, and the lack of an easily-producible label for his sexuality has meant he's just kept his own counsel.

Quite apart from that, he knows he chose Elizabeth because, back in college, he shared his family's views on life much more unequivocally.  _ I know she wouldn't've made me happy long term. It would've been fine, but it wouldn't have set the world alight. _

Nick's staring at him. "What?" he asks. "You just had a million thoughts and I didn't hear about any of 'em." 

Armie shakes his head, playing with the fork in his bowl of salad. His heart's pounding. He has no idea if he's about to out himself or not. "I know we would've been fine. Just—fine. And my family would've been happy with us. We would've made Hammer babies and attended Hammer events and worked for the Hammer Foundation and spent Hammer money. I don't know." He shrugs. His throat is tight. 

"And you…didn't want all that?" asks Nick, slowly. "It's not a surprise to me, Armie," he adds, when Armie hesitates. "You've been refusing to use your fund for years. And it's not like you need to, with your job, but…" he licks his lips. "Shit. Get me a beer, man." He reaches out and grabs the nearest pack of chips. "I need it." 

Armie gives him a wry smile and fetches two beers from the fridge. They toast one another and take long pulls. Nick makes a satisfied  _ ahhhh _ noise that makes Archie stare quizzically up at him. 

"It's okay to want better than 'fine'," says Nick, eventually. 

_ You sound like my therapist.  _ Armie gives him a quick glance. "I guess. I'm just…" he shrugs. "My mom wants an explanation. She wants me to say why I did it, come up with another woman to fill the gap, maybe. She wants to know how it's all going to play out from here. And I...don't know. I just don't. I don't have anything to tell her. I don't think wanting better than fine is in her vocabulary. She'll just talk about how the family comes first, having a good partner who understands the demands of being part of a family like ours and...yeah." He gestures helplessly. "Yeah. I can't deny, Elizabeth would've been perfect for that."

Slowly, Nick nods. "What you're saying is, she won't give a shit that you didn't love Elizabeth." 

Armie takes a breath.  _ I didn't love Elizabeth.  _ He's not sure he's ever quite put it that bluntly to himself before. He's always thought of her with affection and respect. They always had fun together. It was only in the last couple years that he'd started to notice how profoundly different their priorities were. That he'd started to realise that affection and respect simply weren't  _ enough. _ "Yes," he says at last. "Yeah. That's not the most important thing, for her." 

Nick's eyebrows rise in surprise, but he nods again. He knows Armie's mom of old. He takes another pull on his beer. "Can I be honest?" 

Armie traces the path of a drop of condensation down the side of his beer can. "Can I stop you?" 

Nick grins. "To me, it seems like...it seems like you got so far, you know? Ending it with Liz, leaving the Foundation, ignoring your family and all your friends—" he waves Armie into silence as he seems about to protest. "I know, I know. But if you're looking for  _ more, _ for love, for more in your life—why did you stop where you did? Take a job that's the same thing, even if for a different company? Keep working non-stop? I mean, okay, you got the furry brat, but  _ that's _ not exactly going to get you laid or make you happy—" 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Don't you talk about my puppy-son like that." He tries to stop himself thinking about Timmy's hazel-green eyes and unruly curls. 

_ That's not going to get you laid or make you happy.  _ "Listen, Nick, I'm—I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anyone else about this. I'm—seeing a therapist. I know I've got changes to make, but I'm—I'm doing my best. Making changes as I can. When I can." 

Nick's eyebrows rise on 'therapist'. "Wow. Armie Hammer. The last human on earth to discover that therapists exist." 

"Oh my god." Armie throws a piece of lettuce at him. "I don't even know why I fucking talk to you." 

"Because you  _ love  _ me." Nick eats a chip in an infuriating manner, shoving it whole onto his tongue and crunching down hard. 

"That could change." Armie stands up as the apartment buzzer goes. "Pizzas are here. Watch the puppy. Don't let him chew anything. Don't feed him any human food, you'll give him the shits and I will kill you." He grabs his wallet and jams on his flip-flops. 

When he gets back up to the apartment, Nick is cuddling Archie on the sofa. 

"You love him," says Armie, smugly. "Admit it."

"I admit no such thing," returns Nick, scratching Archie's ears. 

"He's going to have to go on the floor unless you want him snapping for your pizza." 

"Yeah, no." 

Armie puts the pizzas on the counter and fetches plates; pours his bowl of salad onto his plate. "You want a mix?" 

"Thanks. What we watching?" 

"Got a Futurama craving." 

"Cool." Nick takes charge of the remote. 

Armie fixes them both plates of pizza, then makes up Archie's dinner too. By the time he's done, Archie's sitting on the floor next to him, wagging his entire butt enthusiastically.

"Oh, mm-hmm, you want something, huh?" grins Armie. He keeps Archie in sit and wait while Nick comes to grab their plates. 

Archie starts wolfing his dinner while Armie and Nick settle on the sofa. 

"Oh my god," breathes Nick, through his first slice of pizza. "Thank god for food." 

Armie sets the episode going and takes another swig of beer. "Why you so starving?" 

"Gym earlier. Didn't have time for lunch." 

Armie grimaces, then starts on a piece of his own pizza. 

"You free tomorrow night?" asks Nick, after a while. "Adam and Leah are having that barbeque. They messaged the group about it, but you never replied, so…" 

Armie shakes his head. "No. Puppy class, remember?" 

"Oh, right." Nick eyes Archie as he comes to sit on the floor next to them, licking his chops. "I mean, you could just blow it off this once. We haven't seen you in ages—" 

Armie imagines not seeing Timmy and Livs. 

"No, man. I've paid for it. It's good for Archie." 

"Oh, right, because paying for some crappy puppy class is so going to bother  _ you.  _ Come on. And anyway, Danny's a dog trainer, you could just—"

Armie shakes his head more firmly. "No, Nick. Archie likes it, and he's meant to be socialised with other puppies. I can't do that in one-on-one training."

Nick sighs and rolls his eyes. "You're just finding another reason to avoid everyone." 

Armie pours the rest of his beer down his throat in a couple long gulps. "Stop nagging," he says, in as even-tempered a tone as he can manage. "I took this time off to try and actually care for Archie, right? You're the one who said he's going to learn to make himself dinner and cry himself to sleep. I'm trying to—not be such a shit dog owner after the busiest time of the year at work. Just—chill. I'm sorry I'm being inconvenient for the group, but you must see—all of you  _ must _ see—I'm not up for friendly barbeques with my ex right now." 

Nick looks at him, eyes narrowed. "You're not being inconvenient, you're being an asshole. People just want things to go back to normal." He says it without heat, and Armie knows he's not angry.

Armie gives a huff of wry laughter. "Right. Well, you can tell them I'm not feeling very  _ normal _ right now, okay? I don't want things to go back to  _ anything _ like they were before." He takes a rushed, shallow breath, then another deeper one. It feels good to say it. 

Nick puts his slice of pizza back on his plate. "So I'm just supposed to be some—what, conduit to all your other friends, huh?" 

Armie sighs, and shakes his head. "Don't be stupid. I'm sure they'll survive without me for a few weeks. And I appreciate seeing you, but I understand if it's too awkward for you." 

"So now you want to push me away too." Nick raises his plate as Archie shuffles closer, eyes fixed on the pizza with laser focus. "Your wolf is after my dinner." 

"Told you he would be. Archie, sit." Armie holds out a treat to the puppy, then looks at Nick. "I meant it. I appreciate seeing  _ you." _

"I'm worried about you." 

"I know." Armie takes a deep breath. "But I'm doing better than at any other time we've known each other. It just doesn't show yet." 

Nick finally stops nagging him, and they open new beers; play with Archie and watch  _ Futurama _ until one in the morning. When Nick's Uber arrives he hugs Armie goodbye and heads downstairs. Armie puts the dishes in the sink and yawns his way to bed, via the bathroom. 

As Archie snuffles himself into a comfortable position next to Armie on the bed, Armie bites his lip. _ I never texted Timmy about whether he wants to go to the dog park tomorrow.  _ He stares at the time on his phone, hesitating.  _ He's probably still awake. He will've just got home from the theater and picked up Livs.  _

The beer gives him the courage. 

Armie:  **Hope the double went well! Was thinking of going to the dog park tomorrow, same one. Want to join? **

The answer takes a minute, during which Armie scrolls restlessly through the news. 

Timmy:  **sure. not 7am tho????**

Armie grins, running his hand through his hair.

Armie:  **Not 7am sounds good. 10? 11?**

Timmy:  **10:30? 🙂**

Armie:  **The power of compromise**

Timmy: 👌  **did you have a good day off?**

Armie:  **Yes. Went for a run with Archie, cleaned the apartment and had beers/pizza with Nick this evening**

Timmy:  **sounds good. He won’t disown you now then**

Armie:  **No, he got to spend the evening telling me how I'm living my life wrong so all is good** 😉 

Timmy:  **gotta love those friends**

Armie:  **And I do** 🙄😂

Armie wonders if Timmy misses his friends from back home.  _ If he's got someone who looks after Livs most days I guess he's put down roots here too.  _

Timmy:  **i’ll bring the coffees this time. what’s your order?**

Armie bites his lip.  _ But you’re not doing so well for money right now.  _ He knows it would seem rude—and probably very transparent—to insist on bringing them himself.

Armie:  **Two-shot Americano please. Did you get any sleep earlier in the end?!**

Timmy:  **kind of a nap before i had to leave for matinée**

Armie:  **‘Kind of a nap’...go to sleep!**

Timmy:  **i’m trying** 😂

Armie:  **Try harder. I’ll fuck off now**

Timmy:  **see you tomorrow** ✌

*


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, the morning turns into a scramble. Armie falls back asleep after taking Archie for his first trip out; then rushes through breakfast and a shower. He stares despairingly at his clothes, eventually picking slim blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a soft grey sweater. Archie isn't cooperating about sitting for his harness, so Armie has to wrestle him into it, then carry him down to the car. He's relieved he didn't insist on picking up the coffee, because by the time he pulls into the parking lot, he's already ten minutes late. 

There are a few more cars this time, but Armie manages to find a space next to Timmy's ancient one. Timmy's just closing the back door, Livvy pulling excitedly on the lead. The coffees sit on the roof of the car. 

_ Oh, fuck, he looks good. Why does he look so good?  _ Timmy's wearing black jeans, tall black boots and a slim pink sweater. 

"Sorry I'm late," says Armie as he helps Archie out of the back door of the SUV. Archie's already whining, pulling determinedly towards Livs. "Don't know how we got late on the weekend, but somehow we did." 

Timmy ducks his head and smiles. "No worries man. Only just got here." 

Archie and Livvy throw themselves on one another, licking and play-fighting. 

"I think they missed each other," says Armie, laughing. 

Timmy huffs amusement and passes Armie his coffee. "Shall we get them in the park? I bought a long leash for Livs." 

"Yeah, let's." Armie tugs on Archie's leash to separate the puppies a little, and they head through the gates. "Crap, I hope Archie's long leash is still in my bag. I forgot to even check—" he interrupts himself, looking around. "Although...there are actually a lot more dogs around than last time. I'm not sure if I trust Archie not to pick a fight with a huge German Shepherd or something." 

Timmy bites his lip. "Yeah, Livs has literally no sense of self-preservation. Maybe we should just walk with them. Not too near any other dogs." 

"Or runners," sighs Armie. "Oh my god, yesterday—" 

Timmy looks up at him. "Didn't you say you went for a run with Archie? I was like, how was  _ that,  _ because I can't imagine trying to get Livs to actually run  _ with  _ me—" 

Armie laughs. "Oh god. So it was bad at first.  _ Bad.  _ He wouldn't even stay on one side of me, kept nearly tripping me over and I figured I was going to accidentally kick him in the head and then fall, but he actually settled down after a while. But then we passed this other runner and out of the blue he just decided he wanted to go to her instead and  _ threw  _ himself after her. He nearly pulled me off balance, and then he barked because he wanted to go to her, which made him look really aggressive even though he was just trying to be friendly—" he sighs. "Thankfully she was nice about it, but Jesus. That was not great." 

"That is...yeah. Kind of pretty much exactly how I pictured it going with Livs, too. With the exception that she's a ten-tonne lump who could probably actually pull me over. Livs, come  _ here," _ he adds, pulling her away from the cigarette butt she's sniffing. "Leave it." 

"I swear Archie's eaten so many cigarette butts already." 

"Same. I literally don't look at anything else as we walk now. I'm just constantly watching the floor for whatever trash she's trying to eat." 

Armie huffs a chuckle. "Oh, god. Do you ever just look at your life and think 'how did I get here'?" He means it as a light comment on new puppy-parenthood, but as he hears himself say the words he realises how much more it could mean to Timmy; how much more it means to him, too. 

Timmy gives him a wry, lopsided smile.  _ "All  _ the time. I feel like I had a kid. And there's like, a finite short amount of time to train it so it doesn't behave like a total asshole for the rest of its life." 

Armie snorts. "Oh, Christ. Yep." He leans down to pass Archie's leash under Livvy's, because the puppies have managed to get tangled. "So did you sleep?" 

Timmy shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. "Kind of?" 

"Oh my god." Armie laughs. "Do you let Livs on the bed, by the way?" 

Timmy hunches his shoulders slightly, letting his curls fall forward into his face. "Uh—well, she's  _ meant  _ to stay in her bed in the corner, on the floor, but…" he trails off. "She's warm." 

_ He misses his boyfriend.  _ And then, with a shock:  _ I don't miss sharing my bed with Elizabeth.  _

"Glad it's not just me," laughs Armie, guiltily. "The little idiot's been sleeping on my bed for weeks now. This morning I woke up with his tongue in my ear." 

Timmy snorts a laugh. "Wow. Urgh. The other day Livs stood on my chest and licked  _ right  _ across my chin and mouth to wake me up. Then she was confused when I brushed my teeth before we went outside." 

"Oh god, don't. So gross." 

"Those people who let their dogs kiss them like, full on the mouth—" 

"No.  _ No.  _ Dogs lick their own butts. They eat shit. And just—literally everything else." Armie gives Timmy a quick grin. "Apparently Labs are the  _ worst  _ for just browsing the floor, seeing what's available to eat."

Timmy sighs, giving Livvy's ear a quick caress when she's close enough. "I can believe it. She's like a fucking Hoover. The amount of crap I have to just physically  _ take out _ of her mouth. At least she's good about letting me." 

"She's not play-biting anymore, right?" asks Armie. "I mean, with humans. These two do it to each other all the time." 

Timmy shakes his head. "No. I looked up about the yelping thing?" he sees Armie nodding. "Right after I got her. It was really good. I don't think it took more than a few days. A week, maybe." 

Armie nods again. "Same. You can tell they really want to be good, you know? They never want to hurt you. They just don't know the best way to play with humans." 

Timmy smiles. "It's kind of heartbreaking how much she  _ wants  _ to be good. She just forgets sometimes." 

"Stupid puppy brain."

Timmy grins. "Yeah. That." He gives Armie an oblique glance, then looks back at the puppies. "I'm glad she's got a dog friend to chill with. I was kind of worried I wouldn't be able to socialize her properly. I don't really have any friends with dogs." 

Armie's about to agree, but—a bunch of the couples he and Elizabeth had been friends with  _ do  _ have dogs. He just hasn't been replying to his friends' messages. Most of them don't know he got a puppy. "That was why I wanted to do the class, really," he returns. "Make sure she's good with other puppies." 

"Sad they don't get any off-leash time to play," says Timmy, watching the two puppies rear up and bat at one another's faces with their paws. Both Armie and Timmy look around. There are still quite a few dogs in easy distance. Timmy sighs. "Maybe we should go back to 7am dog park trips." 

"I mean, that's good for me when I'm working, but on my days off?" Armie grimaces. 

"Oh yeah, you said you have more time off, right?" asks Timmy, hauling on Livvy's lead as she shows interest in running towards another dog. "Livs,  _ leave." _

Armie pulls Archie to his side and pets his head. "Yeah. Three more days." 

"You got plans for what you're doing with it?" asks Timmy.

Armie shrugs. "Kind of the same as this weekend. Taking Archie for walks and doing training with him, sleeping a lot, eating actual fruit and vegetables. Thrilling, I know." 

Timmy smiles, his nose scrunching with amusement and curiosity. "Fruit and veg?" 

"God, yeah." Armie rubs a hand across his eyes. "During year-end at work I barely sleep and I eat like  _ crap.  _ Just—grab sandwiches or junk food whenever I have a second. I end up as this greasy, sleep-deprived goblin and spend the next two weeks eating salads in an attempt to feel less disgusting." 

Timmy snorts a laugh, eyeing Armie obliquely. "Right. Goblin. Okay." 

Archie starts circling, showing interest in pooping. Armie stops and starts opening a bag. 

Timmy points onwards. "I'll take Livs on so she doesn't—" he gestures, and grins. "Dogs are gross."

Armie laughs. "Yup." 

Once he's cleared up, Armie walks Archie to the nearest trashcan, checking his watch discreetly. The puppies' twenty-minute exercise time is nearly up, and they've almost completed the circuit of one of the shorter paths in the park. 

_ Almost time to go,  _ he thinks, and the cold weight of disappointment in his chest is too heavy for the amount of time he's known Timmy.  _ This is ridiculous. You met him one week ago. Don't be fucking stupid.  _

By the time Armie looks up, Livvy has apparently also remembered that using the bathroom is a good idea; Armie lingers with Archie near a bush that apparently smells of something incredibly enticing while Timmy clears up and makes the trip to the trashcan. 

As they meet again, Timmy holds out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He's already rubbing his own hands with it. 

Armie can't help smiling; checking in with those hazel-green eyes. It's a detail about Timmy, and he enjoys learning it. Timmy ducks his head and looks away. 

Armie uses the hand sanitizer, and passes it back. Archie immediately starts sniffing his hands, and trying to lick them. 

"Archie, no—leave," mutters Armie. "Christ. Imagine puppies high on hand sanitizer." 

_ "Or  _ throwing up hand sanitizer in the car," says Timmy, staring down at Livvy with fond exasperation.

"The two options for puppies," grins Armie.

"Being a dog dad is shit," smiles Timmy, stroking Livvy's ears as if to say,  _ don't listen to me. I love you really.  _

"Nick calls Archie my 'furry brat'." They're all walking slower as they approach the park gate. The puppies are tired, panting, not quite as full of energy. 

"Your friend Nick knows how to wind you up," says Timmy, with a smile. 

"You're right. He does." Armie sighs. "Guess your oldest friends always do." He drags his feet, letting Archie sniff at a tree that he ought to be pulling him away from, telling him to leave.  _ Always make sure the puppy knows he can sniff stuff on your terms. When you want to move on, move on. He has to fit in with you.  _

_ It's okay, Archie. I don't really want to move on right now.  _

"Wonder how class will go tonight," sighs Timmy. "Hopefully Livs doesn't disgrace me." 

Armie grins. "At least she didn't make a puddle." 

"Don't. Don't jinx it for tonight." Timmy watches as Livvy sniffs a stick. "Do you think it'll be the same kind of stuff we did last week?"

Armie frowns. "Well I think new puppies join every week, right? So I'd be surprised if it was  _ much _ different." 

"Hmm." Timmy nods. "Maybe Livs has a chance to improve at the exercises then. I've been trying to practice them with her. I know it doesn't really show in the park, but she's getting better at 'sit' and stuff. I mean, with food to bribe her." 

He sounds anxious, and Armie wants to hug him. He imagines putting his arms around that slim frame.  _ Stop being weird Am I being weird?  _

"I'm sure she'll do fine. Anyway, remember with all the new ones, she won't be the worst, for sure." 

Timmy hunches his shoulders. "Hopefully." 

Even though they've slowed down so much, they're nearly at the gate. 

"So…" says Armie, reluctantly. And then suddenly, he's saying something he hadn't meant to at all. "I don't know if...uh—I have a  _ lot  _ of salad ingredients at my place, I don't know if you want to help me eat some of it? We could watch something, try and get the puppies to nap. But I know it's your only day off all week so—I guess you probably have shit to do—" he shrugs, and worries that he's blushing. 

Timmy bites his lip, and Armie wonders if he's trying to decide, or trying not to smile. 

"It might not only be the puppies that take a nap," says Timmy, awkwardly. "I got like three hours' sleep, I think? So. Uh." 

Armie grimaces. "Oh man. That's bad. I totally get it. Another time." 

Timmy gives him a smile that's half awkward grimace. "I mean—I'd really like to, and—and it's dumb to keep putting stuff off because of getting no sleep. It kind of—seems like that's how I live now, so—" he shrugs. "That'd be cool. Thanks, man. Please tell me there's  _ some _ carbs with the salad, though." 

Armie huffs amusement. "Uh—I have rye bread? This one kind that I'm addicted to." 

"Cream cheese?" 

"I do in fact have cream cheese." 

"Then I am there." 

Armie laughs. They make their way out of the gates to the parking lot, and start getting the puppies into the cars. "I'll give you my address? Best not to rely on you being able to follow me in LA traffic." 

Timmy puts Armie's address into maps and leans into his car to clip the phone into its holder. "Cool. So I'll see you there, I guess. Is it street parking?" 

Armie shakes his head. "There's a parking lot under the building. My neighbor's away this week so you can use his space. If you get there first, just pull up in front of the building and I'll open the gates when I arrive." 

*

In the end, Armie makes it back to his place first, but only by a couple minutes. When Timmy draws up behind him he presses the button to open the gates to the underground parking, and they both drive down the ramp; Armie opens his window and points to the space Timmy can use, then goes to his own. 

The puppies meet as if they had been cruelly separated for years, leaping on one another and tangling their leashes immediately. 

Timmy sighs and smiles. "Should we get them to use the grass again, out front?" 

"Maybe a good idea," Armie grins. "For the sake of my floors." 

In the entrance lobby, Armie grabs his mail and looks at Livvy. "Should we take the elevator? I normally carry Archie up, but…"

Timmy laughs. "She's used to the stairs now. I could carry her up the stairs in our— _ my  _ building for like...maybe three weeks after getting her? Then she was too big. And there were a few days where she  _ hated  _ the stairs and kept growling and barking at them. I had to tempt her up with treats on every step to start with." 

Armie shakes his head, leaning down to stroke Livvy's ears. She and Archie are busy sniffing at the bottom step, which is apparently rich in scents. "Ridiculous dog," murmurs Armie. "Yes. You.  _ You." _

"The worst is coming  _ down  _ the stairs," says Timmy, as they start to walk up. "She forgets I'm on the end of the leash. I have to hang on tight to the rail." 

Armie winces and glances sidelong at him. "Jesus. Don't let her pull you down." 

"Yeah that loose-leash training needs to happen  _ faster," _ says Timmy drily. 

When the puppies are let off their leashes in the apartment, Archie runs to his water bowl and Livvy follows him, skittering awkwardly on the wooden floor. 

Timmy laughs at her. "Oh man. My place is carpeted everywhere. Don't think she knows what to do with her paws."

Armie smiles, dropping his backpack on the bench next to the door. He pushes off his shoes and pads into the kitchen. "You want a drink too?" he asks. "Since the puppies are indulging?" 

Timmy sits down to unlace his boots and pull them off. Armie stares at the pastel yellow socks beneath, then looks quickly away again. 

"What have you got?" asks Timmy, making his way into the kitchen too. His steps are slow, a little awkward. He pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. 

"Uh—water, coffee, tea—" Armie opens the fridge. "OJ—"

"OJ, please," says Timmy, quickly, then smiles when Armie looks at him. Shrugs. "I love orange juice." 

"So I guess your normal breakfast is bagel and cream cheese with OJ, huh?" 

Timmy laughs. "Uh—" 

Armie blushes, realising it sounds like he's just invited Timmy for breakfast. "Not here though, I guess. I've heard New Yorkers' opinions of LA bagels before." He puts Timmy's glass of juice down on the counter next to him, not trying to pass it directly into his hand. 

Timmy looks at him obliquely as he reaches for the glass. "Yeah...can't say I've tried them." 

"Well, that's a review in itself I guess." Armie pours himself a glass of water. "Oh—sorry. Did you want ice?" 

Timmy shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Livvy—no. Leave. Come." He rewards her with a treat when she trots over. "Ugh, Jesus. Literally  _ every _ pair of trousers I own has one gross dog-treat pocket now." 

Armie laughs, digging in the fridge for salad ingredients. "Same. My life is so glamorous." 

"I'm so sorry if she chews anything, dude. Think she's pretty interested in the corner of that rug." 

Armie shakes his head. "Seriously, don't worry about it. Archie's had a go at pretty much everything in the apartment anyway. Are you good with chicken salad?" 

Timmy nods. "Sounds good. Shall I help?" 

Armie waves him away. "No, no. You watch the puppies. Here—" he moves the mail away from the spot on the counter in front of the bar stools. "Have a seat." 

"Thanks." Timmy pushes himself up onto a stool, sitting sideways to keep one eye on the dogs. He takes a sip of his juice. "So have you always lived in LA?" 

Armie shakes his head slightly, concentrating on washing lettuce leaves. "Since I was twelve. Dallas and then the Caymans, before that." 

"The  _ Cayman Islands?" _

Armie smiles. "Yeah. Well, Grand Cayman. Well-known tax haven?" He looks over his shoulder to find Timmy looking at him with a fascinated crinkle between his brows. "What?" asks Armie. 

Timmy shakes his head. "No, it's just—you seem kind of cynical about it. Your—your family, I guess. Why they went to live there." 

Armie washes a couple tomatoes, thinking how best to answer. It's not something he's had to think about in a long time. His friends, he's started to realise, mostly come from money. Among them, joking about the effects money has on relationships of all kinds is common. "The money always comes first, in a family like mine," he says, eventually. "Keeping it, guarding it, investing it, spending it. Losing it." Internally, he sends up a prayer.  _ Please don't think I'm just some rich douchebag who's too used to having money.  _

_ Even if I kind of am.  _

He adds, "It gets—tiring. The way it rules your life, whether you want it to or not. And yes, I'm aware that makes me sound like an entitled piece of shit." 

"I wasn't thinking that," says Timmy. His eyes are narrowed, interested. His expression has the stamp of absolute sincerity. "I guess I was just thinking how much we assume money equals happiness. An easy life. And it doesn't necessarily, at all." 

"'We'?" 

Timmy grins. "Society. Normals." His expression turns mischievous. "Paupers?" 

Armie can't help but laugh, rolling his eyes. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Alright." 

Timmy's grin becomes a smile, warm and genuine. He shrugs. "It all sounds like more trouble than it's worth. Honestly can't say I envy you, dude." 

Armie smiles and shakes his head. "That is totally fair." He reaches down balsamic vinegar and oil to mix the dressing. "What about your family? What do they do?" 

"My dad's an editor? At UNICEF. And my mom's—well, she works in real estate now, but she trained as a dancer." Timmy takes another sip of orange juice. "Livvy, Archie—c'mon, dudes. They're working  _ together _ to chew the rug now." He hops off the stool and goes to pull them away from it. "No—no. Sit." 

Armie watches out of the corner of his eye, trying not to ogle but loving the contradictorily graceful awkwardness of Timmy's movements, the way his delicate fingers pet the puppies' heads and tempt them towards treats. "And—siblings?" he asks. "Brothers, sisters?" 

Timmy tempts the puppies after him as he comes back to the counter. "Sit. Wait…" he holds the treats above their noses. "Sister. Pauline. She lives in Paris most of the time—she's a writer and actor." 

"Your whole family's creative," says Armie, cutting the rye bread into slices and spreading them with cream cheese. 

Timmy finally drops the treats for the puppies, and they snap after them, then tumble together in a slightly tired play-fight. He smiles; half-shrugs. "Yeah. I guess." 

"Paris. You visit your sister much?" 

Timmy's fingers twine around the glass, thumbs restless against its edge. "Yeah, sometimes. I don't know—been wondering whether to go there for a while after LA, instead of trying to settle in NYC. She'd let me stay. Could be interesting. See what work is like there." 

Armie starts putting the salad and bread on the counter; collects plates and cutlery. "Wow. Your French is good enough for that, then." 

Timmy half-shakes his head. "Kind of? I still make mistakes, but my dad only talks to me in French, so. Technically I was brought up bilingual." He looks away, like he's embarrassed to talk about himself. "You been to Paris?" 

Armie smiles. "Yes. At the Foundation—there was a big art charity investor who was based in Paris. I used to go once a year.” He passes Timmy a plate and fork. “I mean, I only usually got an afternoon to look around. But I did the Louvre, once, and—” he shrugs. “Well, I know it sounds dumb but I mostly just like walking around new cities. Finding places to have coffee, or eat. Getting the sense of it.”

Timmy’s eyebrows rise. “No, no—I love that too.  _ Way  _ better than sightseeing.” He takes a slice of rye and starts forking salad onto his plate. “So you did charity investments? That’s cool.”

Armie looks away, watching the puppies. They’re clearly tired, still batting at one another, but only desultorily. “At the Foundation, yes. At my new place…” he sighs, shrugs. “Well, it’s something to work towards, I guess. Right now, I just have to work on private clients.”

Timmy takes a huge bite of rye bread, and chews. “Oh my god, you were right, this bread is so good,” he mumbles, hand over his mouth. He swallows, then puts the bread down. “Man, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but—” he shifts, awkward. “The way you  _ talk  _ about it. You obviously don’t  _ want  _ to work towards any of it.” He looks at Armie with wide hazel eyes. After a second of silence, he shrugs, shoulders rounding. “You’re thinking I need to shut the fuck up. No—you’re thinking your friend Nick and I would get on well.”

Armie laughs, staring down at the forkful of salad he’s slowly spearing. “You know what? I think you would.” He hesitates. “It’s—fine, though. I don’t mind.” 

And he doesn’t. Somehow Timmy’s sincerity takes away the sense of indignation Armie might have if someone else tried to tell him how to live his life, tried to question his decisions.

There’s a pause. Timmy picks up his fork and eats a lettuce leaf. “When I asked you why you went into this job, you said it’s because it was what your dad wanted.”

Armie swallows a mouthful of chicken salad. He doesn’t quite know what to say.  _ Well. It’s true.  _

“What did  _ you  _ want to do?” asks Timmy.

Armie pauses, then half-laughs. For some reason his heart is beating harder, fight or flight adrenaline fizzing down his spine. “You won’t believe it.”

Timmy grins, catching Armie’s eye. He’s scrunching his nose again, amused and curious. “Uh—why? What was it? Pro skater? Farm laborer? What?” 

Armie smiles, but lets his gaze slide away. He feels his cheeks heat slightly, even saying it. “I actually also…wanted to—act.”

Timmy looks at him curiously, then blinks. “Okay…”

“It’s not—it wasn’t—it just wasn’t something my dad would…” he sighs. He knows it must sound stupid to a guy from a creative family, to someone pursuing his dream.  _ Stupid, and pathetic. _ “I was young. Sixteen. Neither of my parents were okay with it…I don’t know. I feel dumb now, but back then…my—my parents said they’d withhold my—trust fund.” He swallows, staring down at his plate. “I mean—I don’t use it  _ now, _ I make my own money, but back then—it would’ve meant moving out of my parents’ place, trying to get by when—when I’d never really done that before, and—” he shrugs. “I’m aware this is all  _ very  _ tiniest violin in the world. Rich kid chose to stay rich. Unsurprising.”

Timmy puts down his slice of rye bread. “Whoa, dude. You realise you don’t actually need to do that? Dismiss it? You were  _ sixteen. _ You’re not gonna be able to just— _ I’m _ able to try acting because my parents let me stay at their place in NYC and help me out when things are difficult. They helped my sister, too, when she wanted to move to Paris. It's just—supportive, isn't it? It’s not like they’re telling us it’s not something we should be doing. And even  _ with  _ all that, I went to Columbia for a year. I didn’t think acting was gonna be stable enough.” 

Armie huffs a wry, grateful little laugh. “Studying what?”

“Cultural Anthropology.”

“And you thought the job prospects in that were  _ better?”  _

Timmy grins, then laughs. “I know, I know.” He gestures at his plate with his fork. “This is good, by the way. You could do it now," he adds, quickly. 

Armie blinks. “Do what now?”

“Act.” Timmy looks at him, then frowns. “Why not?”

Armie smiles. “I’m nearly thirty. I should be—” he gestures helplessly, “—settling down. Having kids. Instead I quit my job, broke up with my fiancée, and bought a dog.” 

“I mean, I guess the last one is kind of settling down?”

“Uh-huh. Yep. Thanks.” Armie smiles, then shrugs. “People don’t  _ begin  _ acting careers in their thirties, do they.” He says it flatly, with as much humor as he can manage. It comes out a little too grim to be funny.

Timmy rolls his eyes. “‘People’. What people? I’m guessing ‘people’ do.” He eats another mouthful of salad; looks around the apartment. “Not to be an asshole or anything but I’m guessing money isn’t exactly a problem. Why not try it? Or apply to drama programs at college, or something?” 

Armie blinks. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.”

Timmy’s shoulders hunch a little. “I’m aware I have literally no right to say this shit,” he says, with an awkward laugh. “We met last week.” His gaze meets Armie’s for a second, then flicks away. “Feel free to get me back.” 

Armie huffs. “What am I supposed to say? You’re doing it, man. Chasing your dream.” He puts his head on one side, then grins. “Although, your sleep schedule is  _ fucked.  _ That’s something you could work on.” 

Timmy grins in return, hazel eyes bright. Armie wants to run his thumb along the sharp line of his jaw. 

“See? I’m sure there’s more. How about moving across the country with a cheating French asshole who abandoned me with a dog? Pretty sure that deserves some  _ choice _ commentary.” 

Armie rolls his eyes. “That’s romantic, though. Better than spending eight years with someone I couldn’t  _ quite  _ commit to because I was too much of a fucking coward to actually look at myself.” He’s taken aback by the ferocity of his own words, by the tone of this whole conversation.  _ I don’t talk about shit like this. With anyone. Except maybe my therapist.  _

Timmy’s eyes are soft. “Doesn’t sound like you exactly had much opportunity to,” he returns, quietly. “Not sure I’d’ve come out if my mom was Pentecostal.”

Armie swallows. “But you did? You—have?”

Timmy grins. “I didn’t tell them I was moving across the country with my  _ good friend _ Léo, or something.” He sees Armie’s expression and his gaze softens from humor to truth. “Years ago. When I was at school. There wasn’t really any need to hide—they’re not—religious, or anything.” 

Armie nods. “You’re lucky.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it that way, but yeah. Yeah, I really am.” He finishes his first piece of rye bread. “I guess, at school—I mean, theater kids, right? Not sure I _knew_ anyone whose parents would’ve been bothered.”

Armie sighs out a long breath. “Right.” He gives Timmy a quick half-smile. “You want to hear one of my mom’s reasons for not wanting me to act?”

“What?”

“Being around too many ‘moral degenerates’.”

Timmy snorts a laugh. “Oh shit. That’s me.” Then he frowns, still grinning. “Wait, so she wanted you to go into  _ finance?  _ ’Cause—or, oh, is this like a really specific form of ‘moral degeneracy’ that’s entirely focused on being queer?”

Armie laughs, rubbing his eyes. “Oh god. Don’t.” A thought occurs, cold in his chest. “Shit, I wasn’t—should I have told you? Or...god. Sorry.” 

Timmy gives him an amused, gentle look. He takes another piece of rye bread. “Do you have many queer friends?”

“Is it that obvious I don’t?”

“Kind of.”

Armie looks away, hunching his shoulders. “Maybe you’ve already guessed, but Liz and I—our friendship group—” he shrugs. “It was a mix. My friends, couples we knew, people she knew through work. It was very—straight. White.” He swallows. “Monied.”

Timmy shrugs. “Makes sense. What does she do?”

“Social media, branding, PR.” Armie sighs. “You know when you just look at your life and…” he trails off.

“What?” asks Timmy, curiously.

“I don’t know why I started that sentence with ‘you know when’,” says Armie, with a wry smile. “I don’t think you’ll find it very relatable.”

“Tell me.”

“I just—I look at it all, and I see someone doing only what he thought he should. What he  _ learned. _ And I didn’t even realise it, you know? I just thought it was all common sense—make money, marry a clever, pretty woman, make cute babies, provide for them. I guess, rinse and repeat until—retire, travel, die.”

“What made you realise?” The question is casually put, but Timmy’s eyes are sharp, interested. 

“Oh, Jesus.” Armie swallows. “I knew. I just—knew I wasn’t straight. I mean, not  _ knew  _ knew, because I didn’t  _ allow  _ myself to know. But it was always there, in the back of my mind. Doubt, and—and fear. Shit, I hope I’m not being offensive. Only fear because—because of my mom. Because I knew my whole life would change, or—or it wouldn’t change, but it’d be…” he comes to a halt.

Timmy finishes his salad and puts down his fork. “You’re not being offensive. Go on.”

“In the end it was…” Armie groans. “Fuck, I was watching this shitty show on Netflix and there was a subplot, a gay couple who have an argument because one of them’s HIV positive but undetectable and he didn’t tell this guy he slept with until after their first time. I mean, it wasn’t some—they used protection, but it fucked with the other guy’s head. And they got their happy ending, and I just—” he rubs his face. “This is pathetic. I just—cried. Fucking— _ lost _ it. I was alone in the house, and I just—” he shrugs. “I couldn’t stop. I knew, and I took a long hard look at everything, my whole fucking life, and it felt like a  _ lie.”  _

Timmy nods. He pulls his sleeves down over his hands. “You know, I was afraid too, before I came out. At school. I just—knew everything would change. People would see me differently. Maybe treat me differently. Fear doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“You sound like my therapist,” says Armie, drily. He glances away, then back. Timmy’s gaze is unrelentingly honest, painfully kind. “I still feel like a coward,” Armie adds, quickly. “I've changed things, yeah, but it’s still half-measures. I’m avoiding my friends and my family so I don’t have to tell them why I did this.” He sighs. “I’ve been more honest with  _ you _ in the past half hour than I have with people I’ve known my entire life.”

Timmy grins. “You want to know the first person I ever came out to?”

Armie shrugs.  _ Please. If you want to tell me. _ “Yes.”

“My French cousin whatever-removed, I can’t even remember the proper relation. I was at my aunt’s house over the summer holiday, and he came to visit. He was older than me, and I’d met him probably once before in my life. But he was queer—just, freely, unapologetically queer. I  _ needed  _ to tell someone, and I told him. Before the whole rest of my family, before any of my friends.” 

Armie takes a breath. “Okay. Okay.” He picks up his piece of rye bread, then puts it down again. “I just—it doesn’t help that I don’t even have a label, you know? Something convenient to tell people, ‘oh, I’m this’.” He fiddles with his water glass, playing with the condensation on its surface. “I know people will ask me if I’m gay, or bisexual, or—or what, and I don’t know. I don’t  _ know. _ I feel like—like I could be with anyone, and then I wonder if I’m just being dumb, if maybe the problem was just I wasn’t in love with  _ Liz,  _ not that…” he looks away, staring at the puppies, snoozing under the coffee table.

“You don’t have to know for sure yet,” says Timmy, shrugging. “Fuck, I still don’t know for  _ sure  _ if I’m gay or bi. Time will tell.”

Armie takes a breath. “Why are you—what? Ten years younger than me and an oracle of wisdom?”

“Can’t be  _ ten  _ years, not if you’re twenty-nine. I turned twenty-one at Christmas.”

Armie nods. “Right. Okay. Still, I feel like you’re wiser than you should be.”

Timmy laughs. “I’ll take that. When’s your thirtieth?”

“August.” Armie grimaces, thinking about a birthday party. He’s willing to bet Liz had already started planning a lavish party for all their friends and family. Hell, probably a lavish  _ weekend  _ of parties. “I might just book myself a vacation.”

Timmy grins. “Paris.”

“Ha. Maybe I should. Actually see the city, instead of just working there.”

“You should. And also quit your job.”

Armie laughs. “Alright, Nick. Whatever you say.”

Timmy smiles and collects the plates. “Let me wash up.”

“I’ll let the  _ dishwasher  _ wash up.”

“Oh my god, the sheer decadent luxury of the rich.”

Armie snorts. “Okay, okay.” He wonders,  _ is Timmy going to take off now?  _ The thought gives him an unreasonable pang of misery. “The puppies are totally out,” he adds, quickly. “You want to watch something, maybe?”  _ Oh god, did that sound too Netflix and chill?  _

Timmy shrugs, but his eyes crinkle at the edges. “Sure, sounds good. What are you watching? I’m always cycling through  _ The Office  _ and  _ Parks and Rec,  _ but I’m up for whatever.” 

“I’ve kind of fallen into a documentary spiral recently. You’ll see if you go look at my list.” Armie takes the plates from Timmy and starts loading the dishwasher. “I could go for some  _ Parks and Rec  _ though. I’ve only watched it all the way through once.”

Timmy glares at him. “What? How? Have I made a mistake here?” he gestures between them. “Do I have to drop you already?”

Armie laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fuck. Yeah. I guess so. I didn’t realise you felt so strongly.”

_ “Please _ tell me you’ve watched  _ The Office  _ at least twice.”

“Yes. I have. Pretty sure it’s even in my ‘watch it again’ section on Netflix.”

“Hmm. Better be.”

Armie grins to himself as he finishes loading the dishwasher. “Coffee?”

“You got any tea?”

“Sure. Black or green?” 

“Black, with milk.”

By the time Armie takes Timmy his tea, he’s hugging a cushion, socked feet tucked up beneath him on the sofa. He presses ‘play’ on the first episode.

“Thanks, man. Oh, wait—fuck—do you mind I put my feet up?”

Armie laughs. “No.” He takes the other end of the sofa, nursing his cup of coffee against his chest. “Make yourself at home.”

Timmy nods at the puppies. Archie’s sprawled on his back, Livvy on her side. Both are breathing deeply, with the occasional snore. “Livs has.”

Armie grins. “Clearly Archie’s a good host.”

“Dunno. He didn’t offer her the sofa.”

“Oh, man. I’ve been trying to train him to only get on the sofa when I invite him. It’s  _ not  _ going well.” 

“Oh, shit.” Timmy groans and rubs his eyes. “I just remembered again we have puppy class tonight. I keep forgetting. Ugh, it stresses me out.”

“Okay, I have another thing to yell at you about.”

“Awesome. I told you to quit your job, so.”

“Seems like your sleep schedule is so fucked because you get kind of anxious.”

“Was that you yelling?”

Armie rolls his eyes, trying not to grin. “Let me finish. From the outside, it really doesn’t look like you  _ should  _ be anxious.”

Timmy frowns. “Uh—I moved across the country, ended my first serious relationship, accidentally adopted a dog, have barely enough money to cover rent, gas, and now dog food, and am getting nowhere in my chosen career.”

“‘Getting nowhere’. I mean, you  _ have  _ an acting job. I’m just saying, to me it looks like you’re doing everything right.”

Timmy blinks at him, long fingers playing with the zipper on the cushion. His gaze flicks away to the TV. “I—I mean, I’m not really sure what to say, but—thanks, man.”

Armie shrugs. “Anytime. I’ll stop talking over the show now.”

They watch in companionable silence for a while, Armie stealing occasional glances at Timmy out of the corner of his eye. 

Near the end of the first episode he looks again, and his heart squeezes in his chest. Timmy’s curled around the cushion he’s hugging, head on the arm of the sofa, fast asleep. He looks young, peaceful.  _ Vulnerable. _ His long eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks.

Armie reaches for the blanket he keeps on the back of the sofa and carefully, quietly, lays it over Timmy.

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are so lovely. Thank you so much 💕

In the end it's Livvy who wakes Timmy up, by jumping up at the corner of the sofa and startling him. 

Armie doesn't see the moment he wakes, but realistically that's probably a good thing; he'd eventually had to get up and tidy the kitchen in an effort not to just stare creepily at a sleeping Timmy. 

He's willing to bet the sight of Timmy waking up is cute as hell, too. 

"Oh, shit," groans Timmy. "Armie?" 

Armie closes his eyes in silent supplication, trying very hard  _ not  _ to think about how good that sounds. "In the kitchen," he says. He runs his finger under the flap of an envelope. "Opening bills. You good?"

"Fuck. How long did I nap?" Timmy sits up and runs his hand through his curls.

"Couple hours." 

_ "Shit.  _ I'm so sorry, man. Did you have shit to do this afternoon? You probably need me to go, right?" 

Armie can't help but smile. "Nothing to do. You don't need to go. You can nap more if you want. The puppies and I are good." 

"Argh." Timmy rubs his face with his hands, turning around on the sofa to look at Armie. "I never usually manage to nap that long at home. Usually Livs wakes me up, or the TV, or just…" he trails off, and Armie knows he means  _ or I get anxious and can't sleep any more.  _

"Well, if you think you can get any more here—" Armie shrugs and makes a  _ go ahead  _ gesture. "You're making up for—a  _ lot  _ of nights at this point." 

"Wait—" Timmy's eyes open wide in guilt and worry. "Crap. Don't we need to take the puppies downstairs? They must need to pee." 

"I took them." 

"What?" Timmy stares at him. "Both of them?" 

Armie smiles. "One at a time, yeah. But I took the elevator with Livs, after what you said about the pulling-you-downstairs situation." 

Timmy's still staring at him. "I was so fast asleep you took  _ two puppies  _ downstairs to pee and I  _ stayed _ asleep?" 

Armie huffs a laugh, hands pressed flat against the cool counter surface. "Uh—yeah." 

"Holy shit." 

"Are you normally a really light sleeper then?" 

_ "Anything  _ wakes me. Seriously. Léo didn't even snore but sometimes he'd just  _ breathe  _ too hard and I'd…" Timmy looks away, then pulls his knees up to his chest. Hugs them, rounding his shoulders. "Uh—thanks for looking after Livs. And—sorry." 

"No problem." Armie stares blankly at the bill he just opened. All of his attention is focused on Timmy, even if he's trying to pretend it's not.  _ He really does miss his boyfriend.  _

_ His ex.  _

Livvy's sniffing at Timmy, making him laugh and turn, bend down to kiss her head. She tries to catch him with a lick as he pulls away, but he's just fast enough to evade it. 

"Can I...I don't know," says Timmy, sounding guilty. "Help, somehow? I know there's no washing up, but…" he shrugs. 

Armie laughs. "You don't need to do anything. You're a guest. Relax. You want tea or something? OJ?" 

Timmy moves as if to get off the sofa. "Tea! I could make you tea." 

"I don't drink tea."

"Why do you have two kinds of tea then?" 

"For guests. Like you. I'm taking that as confirmation you want tea." 

Timmy huffs a laugh and slumps back onto the cushions. "You're really just going to  _ force _ me to relax, huh." 

"Seems like it." Armie busies himself with Timmy's tea, and pours another glass of water for himself. Tries to ignore the long, slim, angular figure stretched out on his sofa. Or at least not to  _ stare. _

"You like to read," says Timmy. He's looking around at the bookshelves, eyes sharp and green and curious. He reaches out to grab Armie's copy of the  _ New York Review of Books  _ from the coffee table, and flicks to the table of contents. "Ooh, Zadie Smith writes for them." 

"Pretty regularly," returns Armie. "You like her books?" 

"I loved  _ White Teeth.  _ Couldn't put it down. I've had a copy of  _ On Beauty  _ in my stack of unread books for years though. The book-stack of shame." 

Armie smiles. "Don't. Mine's next to my bed." 

"Everyone has one. Worst book you have on your book stack?" 

"Worst, like…"

"Like, that's literally a classic. Something everyone else in the universe has read already. Something you're  _ ashamed  _ you haven't read." 

Armie rubs his eyes. "Oh, shit.  _ Midnight's Children.  _ It's worse than just not reading it, too. I tried, and I got stuck after fifty pages. Abandoned it. And I  _ hate  _ abandoning books. I have—a  _ thing  _ about it. And now I just feel guilty and annoyed at myself every time I see that book." 

Timmy grins. "Ouch. Nice. Yeah abandoning a book feels like shit. I've started listening to audiobooks mostly? It forces me through a few pages when I'm driving or cooking or whatever." 

"Hmm." Armie nods. "Hadn't thought of that. Okay, worst book on  _ your _ book stack." 

"Oh my god.  _ Candide.  _ It's literally so short, too, and I  _ speak French,  _ and my Dad says I shame him." Timmy ends on a laugh, and it's clear it's a family joke, not a real reproach. 

Armie sighs. "Don't—" he gestures around at the bookshelves, "—my reading's  _ badly  _ Anglocentric. And mostly American." He grabs a couple treats and calls the puppies, who scramble over to sit and wait in front of him. "With this fluffy idiot, I think I  _ will _ have to resort to audiobooks. Actually getting time to sit and read without him chewing the book or needing attention is…" he shrugs. "He chewed up my previous copy of the  _ NYRB,  _ you know." _ _

Timmy laughs. "You shouldn't starve him then, should you?" 

"I see you're on his side. He definitely thinks I do." 

"Oh, so does Livs. You'd think she never gets fed." 

"Does she need a bowl of food, by the way? I'd normally give Archie a snack before puppy class. She can have some of his." 

Timmy checks the time on his phone, and groans. "Puppy class." 

Armie laughs. "Did you forget again?" 

"Yeah." Timmy throws an arm over his eyes. "Ugh." 

Smiling to himself, Armie grabs Archie's bowl and the tupperware of his kibble for the day. Both the puppies are all attention, wagging around his feet. 

Timmy levers himself off the sofa. "Hang on—Livs won't stay chill when food comes into play. I'll just grab her." 

"You sure she doesn't need anything?" 

Timmy shakes his head. "No—I feel bad, but I'm going to keep her a bit hungry until class. She'll do better if she really wants every bit of kibble." He grabs Livvy's collar. "Come on, you. Come sit with me." 

"Oh," says Armie as Timmy tows Livvy to sit next to the sofa. "I meant to say—I was making a salad the other day and made Archie sit for a piece of chicken. It was like  _ magic _ —he was so good. Maybe we should try it at class tonight." 

"Huh." Timmy looks over, interested. "Yeah I haven't really been feeding Livs anything except her kibble. It's meant to be a 'complete diet' and everything online says Labs gain weight really easily, so I've been trying to be careful…" he shrugs. "I guess a bit of chicken once a week can't really hurt though." 

Armie shakes his head. "Definitely not. You want to try it when Archie's finished his kibble?"

"Yeah, cool. Thanks." Timmy strokes Livvy's head, still holding on to her collar. She whines slightly, trying to get up and see what Archie's crunching. 

"Oh shit. That's heartbreaking," laughs Armie. "Livs…" 

"I know, it's so bad." Timmy grimaces. "I read you're meant to ignore them when they whine? So they stop, instead of using it to get attention. But I'm not sure I  _ can." _

Armie shakes his head. "I can't ignore it when he does it." 

"I always worry she's asking to go outside to pee, you know?" says Timmy, rubbing both Livvy's ears and leaning down to look into her big brown eyes. 

Armie smiles, and picks up Archie's bowl; sets it in the sink and fills it with soapy water. Archie immediately goes off to find Livvy, and they start scuffling on the rug again, rolling under and around the coffee table. 

Armie takes the tupperware of chicken out of the fridge and starts shredding it into small pieces to use as treats. 

Timmy wanders over to see what he's doing; grabs a piece and calls Livvy. "Ah-ah, no, off—no jumping—" 

Eventually Livvy settles into a sit, wriggling excitedly for the food, but  _ very  _ obedient. She hits the floor like a stone when Timmy says "down," and he giggles, looking up to Armie. "Oh my god. Shit. It  _ is  _ like magic." 

Armie swallows, chest tightening.  _ Holy crap. Why do you look like that when you smile?  _ "Told you," he manages. 

Timmy treats Livvy, then stands up. "Shit. Yeah, okay. You mind if I take some chicken for the class? I can pay you back." 

Armie nods to the chicken he's already shredding into two ziplock bags. "No problem." 

Joining him at the counter, Timmy seems glad to have found a task he can help with. He grabs a piece of chicken and starts to pick it apart into smaller pieces. "It's cool to have a day with another puppy owner," he says, after a minute. "I know you'll probably tell me off for it but I kind of…half the time I worry I'm not getting stuff right with her, or being patient enough, and…" he trails off, and shrugs. "It's just good taking the pressure off a bit? Not being on my own with her." 

Armie nods, trying not to stare at Timmy's slim, deft fingers. "Same. We never had a dog when I was a kid, so I've never done this before. The amount of shit I've googled in a panic." 

Timmy huffs amusement. "'My dog just ate plastic'."

"'Foods toxic to dogs'."

"'Puppy throwing up'."

"'Puppy shit yellow'."

Timmy grins, wrinkling his nose. "Yellow? Oh fuck, what?" 

Armie laughs. "Archie had diarrhoea, and the vet told me to put him on a rice and turkey diet. Turns out—yeah. Like,  _ turmeric _ yellow." 

"Oh god." Timmy snorts a laugh. 

"Plastic?" 

"The feet off the bottom of her food bowl. She puked them up the next day in the corner of my kitchen." 

Armie groans. "Oh Jesus. Yeah I woke up in the middle of the night a couple weeks ago to find Archie throwing up next to the bed." 

"The glamour of our lives right now." 

Armie acknowledges that with a huff. "I feel like it's going to be less of a shock when I actually do have kids."

"I mean, it's already not enough sleep, cleaning up shit—"

"And puke. Teaching them not to scream and knock shit over—"

"—Not to put stuff in their mouths—" 

"Trying to get them to sleep enough." 

Timmy grins. "Basically the same, right?" 

"Good thing no parents can hear this. We'd be told to shut the fuck up pretty fast." 

_ "Human  _ parents. We're parents." Timmy looks at the bags of chicken. "That's probably enough, right?" 

Armie nods, and turns to the sink to wash his hands, then closes up the tupperware and bags of chicken. "I'll put it back in the fridge for now, but don't let me forget it when we leave." 

Timmy washes his hands too, sighing. "Oh, man. We'll probably have to do that thing in front of everyone again, right? The sit, and down, and walk." 

"Guess so." 

"Ughhhh. The worst. I hate that shit, being up there in front of everyone—" 

Armie gives him a sidelong smile. "You're an actor. Don't you do that every night?" 

"Never work with children or animals," smiles Timmy, bending down to scratch Archie's ears. "Anyway, I know I can do  _ that. _ Dog training…" he pauses, and sighs. "Not so much." 

"You're doing fine," returns Armie.  _ "Livs _ is doing fine." 

Timmy sighs. "It's so patchy though? Like, sometimes she's so good and sits or lies down really nicely? Other times she just ignores me totally." 

"Oh I love that. It's my  _ favorite _ when Archie thinks he doesn't have to do what I say just because he deliberately doesn't make eye contact." 

Timmy grins. "Oh my god. Yes." Then his face falls. "She's going to do so bad in class."

Armie can't help a huff of laughter. "I think you need to stop worrying so much. You're taking her to class to pick up skills. It's not a test." 

"I know, I just…want to be a good owner," he mutters, looking away. 

Armie wants to hug him. 

"Can I use your bathroom?" asks Timmy. 

"Turn left off the hall." 

Armie keeps the puppies amused with sit and down exercises until Timmy returns. 

"Shit, it's nice to be able to go to the bathroom without worrying Livs is chewing something to bits in the living room," says Timmy when he gets back. 

"Ha. Tell me about it." 

"The number I've times I've been like, 'should I take her with me…'" says Timmy, with a lopsided, sheepish little grin. "But then I realise I'll just be there trying to pee while she drinks bleach or something." He ducks his head as he finishes the sentence, clearly wondering whether he's said too much. 

Armie snorts. "Oh my god. Thank you for saying it." They grin at one another, until Armie looks away at the puppies. "We should get ready to go soon. You need a snack or anything? Shit—I boiled the water for your tea and then started playing with the puppies—" 

Timmy waves a hand. "I'm good, I'm good. A glass of water, maybe, before we go—" he's already opening the cupboard with the glasses. 

_ He must've noticed where I keep them when I made lunch.  _ There's warmth in the pit of Armie's stomach at the thought of Timmy making himself at home. 

Timmy drinks the water thirstily, head tipped back. His throat is creamy-white, whiter than it should be in an LA spring when everyone else has already started to tan. There's a constellation of freckles on his neck and jaw that makes Armie swallow and look away. It's all too easy to imagine dragging his lips or the tip of his tongue slowly from freckle to freckle, kissing each one—

_ Wish I had the balls to suggest getting dinner together after the session.  _

_ Two meals together in one day? Too much.  _

_ Fucking chill, Hammer.  _

Armie points awkwardly towards the hall. "I'll just use the bathroom too." He leaves Timmy in charge of the puppies. 

"Livs just tried to chew every single leg of your coffee table," says Timmy, as Armie walks back in a couple minutes later. "I did stop her, I swear." 

Armie laughs. "I've kind of resigned myself to maybe having to replace  _ all  _ my furniture in like a year."

Timmy smiles. "Jesus. A year. They'll be so big." 

_ And you'll be back in New York.  _ Armie tries to ignore the breathless tug at his heart that this thought causes. "Right," he says, turning away. "I'm going to get Archie's harness and leash on." 

Timmy groans as he gets up. "Okay,  _ fine."  _

Armie chuckles. "Come on. You're stressing about this dumb class way too much." 

Timmy grumbles his way over to the bench; starts pulling on and lacing up his boots. Armie tries not to stare at the deft actions of those slim fingers as he puts his own shoes on. 

"Livs, come," calls Timmy, when he's done. "Good girl.  _ Good  _ girl. Sit—" 

Armie holds out a piece of kibble to Archie, persuading him to sit and wait for his harness. "You know your way to the community center from here?" 

"I think so? But I have the address. I was going to put my GPS on just in case." 

Armie nods, clipping Archie's leash to the harness. "Not sure I'd be brave enough for LA traffic if I hadn't always lived here." 

Timmy stands up, holding Livvy's leash. "Oh man. Well, I learned to drive in NYC, so." 

"Ha. Okay, yeah. I get your point." 

"Chicken," says Timmy, suddenly. "We left it in the fridge." 

"Shit, yeah. Thanks." Armie passes Archie's leash to Timmy and grabs his backpack, then crosses to the fridge; packs the two ziplock bags of chicken. "How did I forget in that amount of time? Christ. Year-end fucks with my brain." 

Timmy smiles. "Three more days off, right?" he asks. 

Armie nods. "Yup. Thank  _ fuck." _

They leave the apartment, and agree on taking the elevator. As they wait, Timmy hunches his shoulders a little, and Armie wonders if he's feeling awkward, or nervous, or both.

"Just one show tomorrow?" he asks, to break the silence. 

Timmy nods, giving him a little sidelong smile. "Just one." 

"So do you sleep better Sunday nights?" asks Armie. 

Timmy scrunches up his face. "Uhhh...kind of? Better than the other nights. Still not, like, a  _ lot.  _ To be honest." 

Armie shakes his head. "No good."

"You telling me off again?" 

"Yup." They smile at one another. 

In the elevator, Timmy asks, "so you must have to travel to NYC a lot for work, right?" 

Armie grimaces. "In my old job, sure. I was there once or twice a month for a few days at a time. Now? Not really. Maybe sometime next year. But not often." 

Timmy nods, and stares down at Livvy, stroking her head. "But you said your clients are from all over the world, right?" 

"Yup. Sadly most of them are happy to just get my advice on the phone." 

Timmy gives him a grin, eyes bright and hazel-green. "Won't matter anyway, when you quit your job." 

Armie laughs. "'When'."

_ "When."  _

"I'm introducing you to Nick as soon as possible. You guys can sit and talk about all the things I should improve about myself." 

_ "For  _ yourself," corrects Timmy. 

"Hm?" asks Armie, as they maneuver the puppies out of the elevator. 

_ "For  _ yourself. Not  _ about  _ yourself." 

Armie blinks at him. 

_ Oh.  _

Armie can practically hear his therapist’s voice. 

_ So you were talking to your friend, and he said you are improving things for yourself, not about yourself? _

_ Yes, Armie replies. And I’ve been fearing all this judgment from other people—my friends—and actually it’s me, isn’t it? Being afraid to take any more steps forward. Maybe—maybe not thinking I’m worth it. Like we talked about before. _

Timmy’s giving him a quizzical look. “Earth to Armie.”

Armie’s heart squeezes.  _ Why do I love the way you say my name so much.  _ “Sorry. Yeah. Uh—yeah. We should give these two a chance to pee.” He pulls Archie towards the grass. 

“I’ll be making her hang out on the grass outside the center, too,” says Timmy drily. 

Armie smiles. “Stop worrying. She’s not going to disgrace you.”

Timmy rolls his eyes. “‘Stop worrying’, he says. ‘Stop worrying’.” He’s trying not to smile. 

“That’s actually really annoying, probably,” says Armie, as they resume their stroll towards the parking garage. “People telling you not to be anxious. Sorry.”

Timmy flashes him a look from behind wild curls, and shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s good to know that at least from the  _ outside  _ it mostly looks like I have my shit together.”

“Ha. Fuck. I think that right there might be adult life in a nutshell.”

“Shit. Don’t tell me that, man.”

Armie snorts a laugh. They’re approaching their cars, and Archie’s pulling at the lead to go sniff the wheel of someone else’s car. “Archie—hey. Leave. Come.”

“So I’ll…” Timmy hunches his shoulders again. “Yeah. Um. See you there?”

“See you there. Hope the traffic isn’t too bad.”

Timmy acknowledges that with a huff, then moves to the back door of his car to start helping Livvy in. 

As Armie leads the way out of the parking garage, he catches a quick smile and wave from Timmy behind the wheel of his car.

*

_ “Fuck,” _ is how Timmy greets him at the community center. He’s leaning into the back of his car, clipping on Livvy’s leash. “I forgot we’re meant to bring a blanket for them to lie on.” 

Armie’s already grabbing Archie’s from the back seat. “I have a spare towel in the trunk,” he says, pulling Archie to go get it. “Arch, come on. It’s been like twenty minutes since you saw her.” 

The puppies are straining at their leashes to greet one another. Archie gives a yelping little bark when Armie refuses to let him pull away, scrabbling to try and get to Livvy. 

“Archie. No.  _ Come.” _ Armie says it like he means it, and Archie grudgingly trails him to the back of the car. 

“Thanks so much, man.” Timmy takes the towel. Their hands brush briefly, and Armie tries to suppress any reaction. “Shit. I literally wouldn’t be a functioning dog dad without you.”

“Untrue.” Armie rolls his eyes. “Grass again?”

Timmy nods. “For sure. You  _ better  _ pee, Livs.” He smiles, watching the puppies greet one another ecstatically. “You’d think we separated them for weeks.”

As they walk up to the community center, Archie pulls on his lead towards the little springer spaniel who’s flailing and whining to see him. 

“Oh, I see,” mutters Timmy. “Your dog’s just dropping Livvy the minute we get here—”

Armie grins, shooting him a look and nodding at Livvy. “So’s yours, man. Look. She’d  _ much  _ rather be friends with that sausage dog.”

Timmy snorts, wrestling to hold Livvy back. In the end he has to grab the handle on her harness. “Jesus. Actually, I think she just wants to eat it.”

The wait for class is frantic, as all the owners desperately try to stop the puppies playfighting, jumping around, and tangling their leashes. None of the puppies are well enough trained yet to reliably sit still and ignore one another, and it’s a mess. Armie’s already exhausted by the time they take their seats in the hall, and Timmy’s frowning, looking stressed.

Armie bribes Archie into place on his blanket, and opens his backpack. “Hey,” he says, holding out one of the bags of chicken to Timmy. “Ammunition.”

Timmy turns his stressed frown on Armie for a second, then smiles tightly and takes the bag. “Thanks, man.” Livvy’s already up off the blanket again, sniffing the bag, trying to lick. “Livs, please—” 

Armie can hear how nervous he is, voice stretched thin. He nudges his shoulder against Timmy’s, wishing he could put his arm around him.  _ That would be fucking weird. You only met him a week ago.  _ “Bribe her onto the blanket,” he urges. “And don’t let her look at Archie. Or that sausage dog she’s obsessed with.” 

Opening the bag of chicken, Timmy does as Armie suggests. With chicken in play, Livs is immediately a lot more obedient, and it doesn’t take long until she’s lying on her blanket, staring intently at Timmy’s hand while he prompts her to wait.

Timmy glances quickly to Armie. “Thanks,” he mumbles, before turning back to keep an eye on Livvy.

This class is much the same as the previous one; there are new puppies, so the trainer gives what’s essentially the same speech again, about making sure your dog is well-trained. 

Armie can feel Timmy tense beside him the whole time; by the time the trainer announces the first exercise—running through the ‘sit’, ‘lie down’ and ‘heel’ commands in front of the group—Timmy’s leg is bouncing with nerves. Armie wants to put his hand on his knee.

Armie goes first again. Archie ignores him on ‘lie down’, but bringing the chicken closer to his nose solves that, and the trainer seems pleased with his progress. 

Timmy almost trips over the mat on his way to start Livvy’s run, and Armie’s pretty sure he mumbles an apology to the mat.

Armie wonders if literally everyone can see what he’s sure is a ridiculously fond smile on his face. He looks down at Archie, then watches the rest of Livvy’s turn, trying to focus on her instead of Timmy. 

She does well; sits nicely and lies down well for chicken, but she’s definitely much more interested in the other dogs than in walking at Timmy’s side. The trainer shows him a technique to pull her attention back to him, and prompts him to treat her more often as they walk, but praises the work they’ve done during the week. 

Timmy collapses into his seat, bribing Livvy onto her blanket instead of letting her scrabble over to Archie. “Fuck,” he mumbles to Armie, sounding incredibly relieved. “That actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. She just wants to go see  _ everyone,  _ so she doesn’t walk properly to heel.”

“Too much love to give,” grins Armie. He points covertly at the tiny chihuahua that’s trying to chew through its leash while its owner attempts to make it walk up to the start of the mat. “Doing well already.” 

Timmy giggles, turning his head to the side to try and hide his laughter behind his curls. “Shhh.” 

Armie turns away too, trying not to laugh.

On their way out of class, one of the trainers bends down to pet Livvy, playing with her soft ears and patting her sides. “She’s a  _ beautiful  _ girl,” she coos. Archie butts his head against her too, angling for fuss, and the trainer laughs. “Got a little boyfriend, have you girl?” she asks Livvy, petting both puppies at once. 

“I mean, they’re like, toddlers,” mumbles Timmy, on their way to the grass at the front of the center. “I wouldn’t say  _ ‘boyfriend’, _ as such—”

Armie smiles. “Aren’t they more like—eight-year-olds by now, or something?”

Timmy stares at him, eyes wide.  _ “Shit,  _ man. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” He shakes his head. “Still not really a boyfriend, though. I  _ hate  _ when people do that.”

Archie trots to the grass and pees immediately; Livvy takes a little longer, obsessed with sniffing a patch of tarmac that neither Armie nor Timmy can see anything special about. 

Suddenly, Armie realises they’re about to leave in separate cars and go to their separate homes. His chest tightens with it. It feels  _ wrong,  _ somehow—which is nonsense.

They walk slowly back to the cars, letting the puppies play for as long as possible.

“So…” mumbles Timmy, once the puppies are in the cars.

“Have a good evening,” says Armie. His heart thumps. “And, uh—thanks for today.”

Timmy smiles, suddenly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, man. I had a really good day. Thanks for suggesting that...and, uh, lunch, and sorry about falling asleep on your sofa.” 

Armie huffs a laugh. “It’s good, honestly. I don’t mind.  _ Didn’t  _ mind,” he corrects himself. “I hope you get more sleep tonight.”

Timmy nods, ducking his head. His delicate fingers are fidgeting with the car key, and Armie reads restlessness. 

“Cool. So I’ll see you…” Armie realises he doesn’t know when they’ll see each other again, except perhaps next Sunday, at class. They haven’t set anything up. He doesn’t want to be annoying, though, and Timmy seems keen to get going. “Yeah. See you,” he repeats, lamely, putting his hand on the driver’s door handle of his SUV.

“Text me?” asks Timmy, turning to his own car. “We could—uh, do another walk, or something—?” 

“Sure.” Maybe Armie says it too quick. He takes a breath. “And you know I want the usual Livvy pic-spam.”

Timmy gives him a quick smile, tucking a curl behind his ear. “Same. For Archie.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation, and then Armie opens the car door. “Cool. Text you then.”

Timmy nods, and climbs into his car. 

Armie sings along to the radio all the way home, even though it makes Archie stare at him, and occasionally howl.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your gorgeous comments.

Armie manages to stop himself from texting Timmy until the morning, but when he takes Archie out first thing, the sky’s a pretty mixture of gold, pink and blue. He snaps a picture.

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Don’t you just love cleaning up puppy poop at the crack of dawn?**

Timmy sees the message almost immediately, but doesn’t reply for a few minutes. Armie’s just walking Archie back up the stairs when he does.

Timmy:  **livs threw up last night + it was a bunch of crap from the park, including these seed pod things? now she’s got diarrhoea + it’s been going on all night**

Armie frowns, opening the door for Archie. Inside, he absently pushes off his shoes, standing staring at his phone. 

He briefly wonders why Timmy doesn’t call an emergency vet—and then realises.  _ Crap. Given how tight he is for money right now, he probably doesn’t have medical insurance for himself, let alone for Livvy. He probably couldn’t afford it.  _

Even though Timmy hasn’t said anything specifically, Armie can sense from his message how freaked out he is. 

_ I’d offer to pay the vet bill, but that would be weird. And Timmy would probably hate it. Fuck.  _

_ And if he’s been taking Livvy outside the whole night, I bet he hasn’t slept at all. So everything probably seems way scarier than it actually is.  _

The first time Archie had diarrhoea, Armie had been terrified. Two expensive vet trips later, the basic advice had been ‘this happens to puppies all the time, feed him rice and chicken until he stops having diarrhoea’.

Armie bites his lip.

Armie:  **I know this is hard to believe but apparently this happens to puppies all the time and 99% probability it’s nothing life-threatening**

Armie:  **Want me to come over?**

Timmy replies immediately.

Timmy:  **yes**

Timmy:  **please**

Timmy:  **sorry**

Armie:  **Don’t apologise. I'll just take a quick shower and pack up stuff for Archie. Will stop into a store on the way and get rice and chicken. You need anything else?**

Timmy:  **no**

Timmy:  **thank you**

Armie:  **Send me your address and lmk where I should park. See you soon **

*

Timmy’s neighborhood is nothing like Armie’s. It’s not like it seems dangerous or anything, but Armie’s never been here before, and he doesn’t have any friends who live around here.

_ Good,  _ he thinks, as he parks outside what the GPS is telling him is Timmy’s building. 

He lets Archie linger on the grass for a minute, then walks up the steps to buzz Timmy’s apartment. The front door clicks open almost immediately.

There’s no elevator, so Armie encourages Archie up two flights of stairs; Timmy’s standing in his doorway, cuddling Livvy. She’s clearly almost too heavy for him for him to hold, and looks perfectly cheerful, wagging and struggling to be put down on the floor as Armie and Archie approach. 

Timmy stands aside to let them in. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a big blue hoodie. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the slight blotching to his pale cheeks shows Armie that it’s not just tiredness. He must have cried at some point during the night. 

"Hey." Armie steps inside. Livvy's successfully demanded to be lowered to the floor, so Armie lets go of Archie's leash and lets them greet one another with their usual mad boisterousness. Armie hands the paper bag of groceries to Timmy, and pulls off his backpack; pushes off his shoes. 

The front door gives directly into a small living room and kitchen. There's another door standing slightly ajar that clearly leads to the bedroom and, Armie figures, an ensuite bathroom. The place is furnished in IKEA; it's clean, but dog toys and blankets are scattered everywhere, and there's a sink full of dishes that Timmy clearly didn't have time to tackle before Livvy got sick. 

Timmy's feet are bare, and Armie wonders if he's cold. He's hugging the bag of groceries like a hot water bottle. 

"How's she doing?" asks Armie, and what he actually means is  _ how are you doing?  _ because it's clear that Livvy just ate something that's given her a weird belly. She's as bouncy as ever as she and Archie start play-fighting next to the sofa.

"Should you have brought Archie?" asks Timmy. His eyes are wide, and he looks anxious, frowning and biting his lip. 

_ Shit, I was right,  _ thinks Armie.  _ He's been freaking out all night and now he thinks she's got a disease or something.  _ Gently, he takes back the groceries, and crosses to the kitchen. "I was thinking in the car," he says. "You know I mentioned my friend's a dog trainer? His wife's a veterinary surgeon. I'll give them a ring and check in with them about Livvy? But honestly, she looks fine. It'll just be diarrhoea from eating something in the park." 

Timmy's followed him to the kitchen. He's standing next to the counter, one foot on top of the other. He's still chewing his bottom lip. "Would you...are you sure…?" 

"I'm pretty sure. But I'm going to call him now, okay?" Armie gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Where are your pans? Let's cook her some rice. She's probably starving. And when did she last go outside?" 

"Just before you arrived." Timmy sounds exhausted now, and Armie can tell that he's starting to relax from his state of high vigilance, letting go of some of his anxiety. 

"Still bad?" 

Timmy nods, miserably. "But I haven't fed her, so there's not much left in her, it's just she still wants to go…" He takes a pan from the cupboard and holds it out. 

Armie smiles his thanks. "Okay. Well she's had a load of excitement now from seeing Archie, so you take her out again and I'll start cooking the rice." 

Timmy nods, and goes to pull on his sneakers by the door. 

Armie sets a pan of water on the stovetop to boil, then starts washing up some of the dishes in the sink. Once he hears bubbling, he pours rice into the pan, making sure to do plenty so that Timmy has enough for a few of Livs' meals. 

"Oh god, you don't have to do the dishes—" says Timmy, when he and Livvy come back in. "I meant to get it done but the night was—and I was going to do it now." 

Armie puts the last plate on the dish rack and shrugs. "Oh well. You don't need to, now." He glances round and sees Archie sniffing at some of Timmy's shoes by the door. "Archie,  _ leave. _ Come."

Timmy goes to check on the rice. 

"I put plenty on," explains Armie. "You can keep some in the fridge for her." 

Timmy nods, and grabs the dishtowel out of Armie's hands. "Hey, whoa. No. I'll dry." 

Armie laughs, and pulls his phone out of his pocket instead. "Alright." He looks up Danny in his contacts, not allowing himself to think about the fact that he's been avoiding him for months. 

"Armie." Danny answers after a few rings. "Dude. Are you alright?" He sounds confused. 

Armie turns away from Timmy, scrunching his face awkwardly. "Yeah," he manages. "How are you, man?" 

"Haven't heard from you in too long," returns Danny. He's not trying to give Armie a hard time; he's not that sort of guy. They've never been particularly close, but they're part of the same circle. Armie's only avoided him because he's avoiding everyone else. 

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Armie manages to make it sound sincere. "Listen, I know it's probably a bad time, but—I got that dog I was talking about." 

"Oh yeah?" Danny brightens. "Great. All going well? How old?" 

"All good. His name's Archie, he's five months, and I need to hit you up for some training sessions. I'll drop you an email about that, if that's okay? It's just—a friend of mine. His puppy's not feeling great today, vomiting last night and diarrhoea overnight and this morning. Archie did the same a few weeks ago and the vet just told me to put him on rice and chicken until he got better, but…" Armie leans against the counter, looking at Timmy's back. He's stirring the rice, clearly listening. "You know what it's like, man. He's worried and I said I'd call you to check if this is normal." 

Danny laughs. "Oh, so normal. Let me guess, the little guy chucked up some stuff he'd eaten somewhere?" 

Armie laughs wryly. "Some stuff she ate in the park, yeah." He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker, so Timmy can hear. 

"What breed is she?" asks Danny.

"Labrador." 

"Oh, Jesus. This is going to happen all the time. Tell your friend unless she's lost interest in food or water, she's good. If she seems listless or isn't drinking, take her to a vet. But otherwise—yeah. All they'll do is poke her stomach to check it's not swollen or hard, and tell you to put her on rice and turkey or chicken." 

Timmy takes the pan of rice off the heat and turns around, leaning against the oven. He's hugging himself. His eyes look red again. 

Armie turns off speakerphone. "Okay. Thanks so much, Danny. I mean it about those training sessions, okay? I'm going to go talk to my friend, but I'll email you later." 

He and Danny hang up, and Timmy takes a breath. 

"Shit. Okay. She's been drinking water fine—" 

Armie nods. "Honestly. She wouldn't be able to play with Archie like that if she was really sick." He notices that Archie still has his harness on and his leash trailing behind him, and goes to take them off.

Timmy's spooning rice into Livvy's food bowl; he keeps his head bent, hiding behind his curls as he grabs the pack of chicken Armie brought and shreds some pieces on top. 

"I'll give Archie his breakfast at the same time," says Armie, going to grab Archie's travel bowl from his backpack. He pours out kibble, and they separate the puppies to make sure they each eat their own breakfast. 

When the puppies are done, Timmy washes up the two food bowls; spoons the remaining cooked rice into a tupperware, and puts it in the fridge. He keeps his gaze low the whole time. 

"I'm sorry, man," he mumbles, at last. "I really overreacted, I guess." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "The first time Archie had a dodgy belly I took him to the vet twice in two days. I was panicking so hard. Don't be ridiculous." 

Timmy looks up. He's clearly exhausted, his eyes darkly-circled. 

Armie can't help it; he opens his arms, and Timmy folds gratefully into the hug. 

Armie's brain doesn't quite catch up with what's happening until Timmy's curls tickle his jaw and cheek, until he feels that Timmy's unnaturally still—hardly even breathing—and realises that he's trying to repress tears. 

"Shit," mutters Armie, trying to see Timmy's face. 

Timmy hides it against Armie's chest. The puppies sniff around their feet and legs, curious about what's happening.

Armie hugs Timmy close. "Crap. Timmy. You don't have to hide. It's fine." 

"It's stupid." Timmy's voice is choked up, croaky. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry—I've only known you a week and now I'm fucking  _ crying _ on you but I thought Livs was really sick and I can't do this, I—" he breaks off, taking and holding a gasping breath. Armie's sweater tightens as Timmy fists his hands in the fabric. 

"Hey. Hey." Armie strokes Timmy's back. "Everything's going to be fine. It all seems overwhelmingly shit right now because you haven't slept properly in weeks and you probably didn't sleep at  _ all  _ last night. But you're going to take a nap, because you can't go on stage on no sleep, and then you'll feel less awful. And you probably haven't eaten breakfast, and I haven't either. So we'll either make something or order something, depending on what you have. And in case you're worrying about it, I can look after Livvy this evening while you go to work." 

For a moment, he wonders if he's been too patronising, spoken too calmingly. But then Timmy sniffles and takes a shuddering breath. 

"Oh fuck,  _ really?  _ I hadn't even thought, but I don't know if Saoirse could have her while she's ill because she lives on the third floor and she has carpets, and…" he sniffles again. "Would you really?" 

"Of course. Don't be ridiculous." Armie huffs a laugh. "Also, last time this happened to Archie he stopped pooping for like three days. So there's that." 

Timmy sniffs. "What?" he asks. "Stopped completely?" 

"Yeah. It was fucking weird. All while eating three rice and turkey meals a day. But I googled it and apparently it's normal." 

It only hits him once he's done talking how odd it is that they're still hugging. 

He immediately worries that Timmy's been trying to figure out how to let go all along, secretly creeped out by this strangely long bodily contact. But Timmy's still clutching tightly to the back of Armie's sweater, and Armie relaxes. 

"'M'sorry," mumbles Timmy.

Armie rubs his back again. "Shhh." 

Livvy decides she can't stand not knowing what's going on any longer, and chooses that moment to jump up and plant her front paws against Timmy's leg. 

Timmy huffs a soggy laugh against Armie's chest. "Livs, off," he mumbles. 

"You want me to take her, later?" asks Armie. "Or stay here?" 

Timmy sniffs. "Um...I mean...you could stay here? Then if she poops at least she poops on my floor instead of yours." He still hasn't let go of Armie's sweater. "But—are you sure? You didn't have plans? Don't let me ruin anything. And you know I won't be home until like midnight, probably?" 

Armie shrugs. "I'm off work. I'm good. You can draw me into your horrifying sleep schedule." He says it lightly, but then blushes when he realizes it could be taken the wrong way. "Okay," he adds quickly. "You having breakfast first, or nap first?" 

Timmy sighs, and pulls back out of the hug. Armie doesn't know if he's correctly reading reluctance in the slowness of his movements. 

_ He's probably just tired.  _

"Breakfast," he mumbles. "I didn't exactly get through much of my dinner before Livs started puking, and then afterwards I didn't really feel like it, and we were kind of busy anyway…" 

Armie forces himself to smile. He feels the loss of Timmy's skinny warmth in his arms, against his body—but right now he's trying not to think about it too much. "Cool. I'm going to check what's in your fridge." 

"I have eggs, I think?" Timmy says. "No salad. Sorry." It's the closest thing to a joke he's managed since Armie arrived, and Armie takes it as proof that he's feeling a little better. 

"That's okay. Even I've not managed to start eating salad for breakfast yet. Bread?" 

Timmy nods, pointing to the fridge. He seems exhausted. 

"Eggs on toast, or French toast?" 

Timmy looks at him with wide eyes, and doesn't answer. 

"What?" asks Armie after a minute, smiling self-consciously. 

"Who _are _you?" asks Timmy, still staring. "I've made you come to my apartment at like, fucking—nope o'clock in the morning because my _dog's _sick, and you turn up with food, and help me, and offer to look after her on your day off, and fucking—offer me a _choice _of types of eggs—" he gestures helplessly. "Like...what?" he adds, at last. 

Armie laughs. "I...don't know what to say." 

"Is this what you're actually  _ like?"  _

Armie frowns. "Huh?" 

"On a daily basis." 

"I don't get what you mean." 

"Shit. Then I guess that's a yes." 

They look at each other. Armie feels like he might be blushing. 

"I'm going to get you back for this," says Timmy, at last. "I swear. I will puppysit so much before I leave. You better start scheduling shit to do  _ just _ so I can puppysit." 

Armie laughs, and looks at the floor. "So...where did we land on the eggs question?" he asks, trying to change the subject. 

_ Before he leaves.  _

His heart sinks at the thought. 

"French toast, dude. French toast. Always." Timmy stifles a yawn. "Can I help?" 

"No way. Go lie on the sofa. The puppies will amuse themselves trying to lick your face." 

"Oh, great. Thanks." 

"Do you like neutral French toast?" asks Armie, as Timmy heads for the sofa. "Or sweet?" 

"Neutral," returns Timmy. "But then I put Nutella on it. Don't make that face. I spent my summers in France. Nutella was inevitable." 

Armie puts the eggs on the counter and holds up his hands in surrender, laughing. "Just saying. What's the point of having French toast under there, when all you're going to taste is the Nutella?" 

"Shut up. Nutella enhances  _ everything _ it touches. Do not." 

Armie grins.  _ "Okay. _ You feel strongly on this issue, I can tell." 

"Everyone should." 

"Jesus. Fucking—honey badger. Looks cute; vicious if provoked on the topic of European chocolate spreads." Armie turns away, trying to hide the fact he's blushing at having called Timmy cute. 

"I'm very  _ clearly  _ a Nutella badger." 

"Shit. Yeah, sorry. Don't hurt me." Armie cracks the eggs into a bowl, whisks them with a fork, and pours in some milk. Heats a frying pan and takes several slices of bread from the bag; cuts them into triangles. "So. Summers in France?" 

"Yeah. In a little village, near my dad's family." 

"Wow. Seems like an exciting way to grow up." 

"I mean. It's not living on the Caymans." 

Armie huffs a rueful laugh. "Well. That wasn't exactly an advantage once I got to LA." 

Timmy sounds curious. "No?" 

Armie laughs. "Are you kidding? Weird kid who'd only worn real shoes in church for like the first twelve years of his life? Strange accent? I was  _ prime  _ for bullying." 

"You were bullied." 

Armie turns around and gives him a look. "Yes." 

_ "You  _ were bullied?" 

Armie can't help but laugh at his incredulity. "Yes. Badly. I swear. And then I grew like two foot one summer and—yeah. That was another reason." 

Timmy's hugging a cushion, occasionally pushing the puppies away when they try to climb on him or lick his face. "I mean...okay. Whatever you say." 

"I  _ swear."  _

"It's just—uh—you seem more like the 'quarterback who got all the girls' type." Then, "Jesus Christ, kids are fucking dumb." 

Something about the way Timmy's looking at him makes Armie flush again. He looks to the pan, checking whether it's hot enough, then starts to dunk the bread in the egg mixture. 

"I get what you mean though," says Timmy, more seriously. "Every fall when I got back from France it felt—I don't know. It was odd trying to fit back into American school. It felt normal, but it felt odd. Like I'd changed a bit in France. Been a different person for a few weeks." 

Armie nods, putting the first four pieces of egg-soaked bread into the pan. He likes listening to Timmy talk.  _ I want to hear what he sounds like speaking French.  _ "Do they have French toast in France?" he asks, smiling. 

"Kitchen philosopher," Timmy tosses back, and Armie can hear that he's smiling too. "It's called _ pain perdu."  _

"What does that mean?" 

"'Lost bread'. I think it's like—you can use stale bread for it because the egg soaks in and makes it good again?" 

"Huh." Armie absorbs that.  _ His voice is deeper in French.  _ He doesn't know why that makes him thrill to the tips of his toes. 

"You sound disappointed." 

Armie smiles to himself. "No, I was just—doing one of those brain meanderings. Just thinking 'lost bread' sounds a bit like 'fallen woman'. Tess of the D'Urbervilles or something." 

"Don't. Thomas Hardy  _ should  _ be on my book pile of shame but isn't." Then, "are you saying you're making me slutty bread for breakfast?" 

Armie chuckles. "The French. The French are saying that. This first round is done, come grab it while it's hot, or your Nutella won't melt." 

Timmy groans as he levers himself off the sofa. "The  _ disapproval  _ in your voice." 

"It's not disapproval," Armie laughs. "Promise. Just confusion." 

"What do  _ you  _ normally have on your French toast?" 

"Bacon and syrup." 

"I mean, bacon's very salty, so I'm not sure what the point of having French toast under there even  _ is—" _

Armie gives him a look, trying not to grin. "Wiseass." 

Timmy purses his lips, clearly also trying not to smile. It just has the effect of throwing into relief how sharp his cheekbones and jaw are. Armie looks quickly away. 

Timmy opens a cupboard and takes down Nutella and syrup. Armie puts the French toast onto a plate from the pan, pushes it over to him, then busies himself with cooking the next round. 

"Here." After a minute Timmy hands him a plate with two pieces of French toast on it, drizzled with syrup. 

Armie looks at the counter. Timmy's plate has two pieces too, covered in Nutella. "This round was yours…" 

Timmy smiles and shakes his head, picking up a piece of the toast. "You must be starving. You're not my breakfast slave." He takes a bite and hums a little groan. "Oh my god. So good." 

Armie eats a piece standing by the stove. "Very professional drizzling," he says, turning the toast over in the pan. 

"Thanks man. You gotta give attention to the plating." 

_ Why the fuck are you so funny and endearing.  _

"Livvy  _ no.  _ Down. Human food.  _ My  _ human food. This is how you got into this predicament, you know. Eating everything in sight." Timmy sighs. "Crap. It's going to be harder to train her without being able to use kibble as treats. I'll be walking around with a baggie of chicken the whole time." 

Armie splits the remaining pieces of toast onto Timmy's and his own plates, then turns off the hob and puts the pan in the sink. "Yeah it was bad with Archie. You can't just reactively treat them for stuff that happens all the time, it was more like doing specific training sessions." 

"Shit, this is so good," mumbles Timmy, through a mouthful of French toast. "Thank you." 

"Thank Nutella." 

Timmy tries to glare and grin at him at the same time, and Armie laughs. He grabs the syrup and drizzles it across his toast. 

"This is going to set back my recovery from being a greasy year-end goblin." 

Timmy snorts and swallows a huge bite. "Shit, man. Shut the fuck up." 

Armie shakes his head as if disappointed.  _ "Charming." _

"Nothing if not." Timmy gives him a cheeky little grin. He's nearly finished his breakfast. 

"You need any more?" asks Armie, pushing his plate towards Timmy. 

Timmy gives him that look that means  _ who are you  _ again, and shakes his head. "Eat your food." 

Armie shrugs and takes back his plate. "You going for that nap?" 

"Argh." Timmy groans and rubs his eyes. "Are you  _ sure?"  _

"Of course I am. You can't go to work on no sleep—you'll be hallucinating onstage. You need to give me your keys, though, maybe, if you don't mind. I'll take the pups for a walk and to the grass." 

"Both of them for a walk at the same time?" 

"How bad can it be, right?" 

"Oh, god." 

Armie laughs. 

Timmy points to where his keys sit on the counter, next to the kettle. "I think you're brave but insane." 

_ I think you're beautiful and fascinating. So.  _

_ Fuck, basically.  _

"Go. Sleep." 

"You need the bathroom before I do? It's through my bedroom, so." 

Armie nods, and collects the plates to put next to the sink. "Thanks." 

"Do  _ not  _ fucking do the dishes again. It's like suddenly having a butler." 

Armie snorts and flips him off as he heads for the bedroom. 

_ I can't believe I get to see his bedroom.  _

It has the same vibe as the living room; clean but a little untidy. There's a dog blanket on the bed and various chew toys on the floor. Timmy clearly takes pillows seriously, since there are a lot of them. The duvet looks heavy and warm, and Armie wonders if he gets cold easily at night. There's a small collection of postcards tacked up on the wall above the right-hand nightstand, and among them a polaroid picture—

With a visceral shock, Armie sees that the picture is Timmy and a guy; a guy with a wild shock of black hair, sharp high cheekbones, and mischievous dark brown eyes. Timmy's planting a kiss on his cheek, glowing with a smile as he does so. 

Armie's heart plummets. 

_ They look good together.  _

_ Timmy still has the picture up next to his bed.  _

_ Is he still in love with him?  _

_ Is he Timmy's type?  _

_ Fuck. Stop being such a creeper.  _

Armie tears his gaze away, and shuts himself in the bathroom. 

When he emerges, Timmy's just finished washing and drying up from breakfast. The puppies are sitting next to him, panting after another play-fight. 

Armie's heart aches. The photograph has put Timmy in a new light, somehow; shown him as half a couple, someone desperately missing his lover. Armie wishes he could help, but knows he can't. 

_ After all, who the fuck am I?  _

"You're sure you're good to look after the puppies?" asks Timmy, folding the dishtowel and hanging it over the front bar of the oven. 

"Honestly." Armie checks his watch. "Go. Seriously. Get as much sleep as you can." 

Timmy smiles at him; it's soft, and lopsided, and grateful. Then he steps into Armie's space and hugs him, quickly, fiercely. "Thanks, dude." 

Armie watches him go, his way of walking, somehow both awkward and graceful at the same time. 

When the bedroom door clicks shut, he looks away, down at the puppies. "Right, you two. Let's walk."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So grateful for all your beautiful comments 💕

Both puppies are exhausted by the time they get back to the apartment. Armie fumbles with the unfamiliar keys at the downstairs door, and by the time he has the door open, Archie and Livs have both lain down, panting. 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Huh. You two better nap when we're back upstairs." 

He tries to be quiet about getting the puppies back into Timmy’s apartment; they rush around a bit, but luckily neither of them seems to want to bark indoors. Armie's grateful not to have had to train that out of Archie. 

He takes some chicken out of the fridge and uses it to bribe the dogs into lying down next to the sofa, then figures out Timmy’s TV and how to get Netflix on it. 

He scrolls through Timmy’s ‘Watch Again’ section, feeling like a bit of a creep, but also genuinely surprised by the range of stuff that Timmy will apparently watch.  _ The Office  _ and  _ Parks and Recreation  _ are firmly in the ‘Continue Watching’ section, but Timmy’s systematically watched most of the big-name movies added to Netflix over the past few months. There’s also some real crap—including a couple made-for-Netflix romcoms that make Armie smile.  _ A boy of contradictions.  _

In the end Armie sticks on  _ Blade Runner 2049,  _ because he hasn’t seen it since it came out in theaters, and he’d really enjoyed it then.

He'd gone to see it with Liz, of course.

It had been his pick for date night, and Liz had hated it. She'd slated it over sushi afterwards, calling it slow and depressing. 

It's in Timmy's 'Watch Again' section, and Armie wants to ask him about it later. He wants to hear more about the books he's read, too, the music he likes, the play he's in. He sees games consoles under the TV, and wants to know what Timmy's playing. 

_ Did he and Léo play games together?  _

Looking around, he sees evidence of places where stuff has been taken: empty spaces on bookshelves where the books lean sideways, a space on the wall where a picture or poster might have hung before. 

_ Timmy said Léo paid his share of the rent until the end of the lease. What did he do? Was he an actor too?  _

Armie feels insatiably, painfully curious. He wants to know and he doesn't want to know, all at the same time. 

He glances down to find that the puppies have fallen asleep, slumped against one another. Livvy's snoring gently. Armie takes a picture to show Timmy later, then settles down to watch the movie properly. 

Near the end of the movie, the puppies wake up and Armie takes them both downstairs to pee; he hoists Livvy up into his arms, worried she might run down too fast, pulling on the lead. 

Once he's cleared up after them, he runs them back upstairs and does some more training with them, keeping them to heel at his sides with pieces of chicken. 

Armie can feel himself getting sleepy; he glances through Timmy's cupboards until he finds instant coffee, and makes himself a mugful. Thankfully, the puppies settle down again, enough for him to finish the movie. He enjoys it again; even more this time, actually, since he understands what's going on a bit more. 

Once it's over, he starts watching  _ The Wife,  _ though he has to give a bit more attention to the puppies, who've woken up properly. He distracts them with 'sit' and 'down' exercises, and kicks a squeaky ball for them. 

About halfway through the movie, he hears movements in Timmy's room. Five minutes later, he hears the toilet flush and the shower start to run. 

When Timmy emerges, his hair is shiny and curly. He's wearing slim grey jeans and a long-sleeved white and navy striped t-shirt. His socks are covered in a little pattern of lemons. 

"Hey," he says, but breaks off and laughs as the puppies descend on him, excited to see him back. "Hi Livs, hi Archie—oh, you're both ridiculous—Livs, you big lump, stop jumping—no, off, baby, off—" 

_ Baby.  _

_ Is that what he called Léo? What Léo called him?  _

"Archie, come—" calls Armie, trying to draw off some of the wriggly cuddle-attack on Timmy. "You can't have had enough sleep," he adds, as he pauses the movie.

Timmy looks up, surprised. "I had like an hour more than I usually do."

"Jesus Christ." Armie gives him a look. "I don't know how you function." 

Timmy shrugs and grins. "Who says I  _ function?"  _

Armie rolls his eyes.

"Ooh,  _ The Wife.  _ You enjoying?" 

Armie nods. "The puppies have been up and around a bit so I'm not sure I've been doing it justice in terms of attention, but it seems great. The author dude's making me want to punch a wall, so." 

Timmy goes to the fridge and starts looking at what he has. "What do you want for lunch? I have basically no vegetables, so salad's off the table. I could go to the store, though." 

Armie had already seen how little was in Timmy's fridge when he made breakfast. "You want me to go?" he offers absently, dragging Archie away from an attempt to chew the corner of the sofa. "No, Archie. Leave." Somewhere in the back of his mind, there's also the thought:  _ if I go, he won't have to pay.  _

"No, no, I'm good, man. I mean—" Timmy hesitates, suddenly awkward, words tumbling out at speed, "—if you're good with the puppies, I don't mean you to be stuck inside and I know you'll be here the whole evening too so—" 

Armie turns around to smile at him. "Relax," he laughs. "We could all go, if you want? In one car. I can walk the puppies around the parking lot while you go in. Do some training around people and cars. It'll knock them out again this afternoon, probably." 

Timmy looks surprised, then smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

_ His front teeth are a little bit crooked.  _ Armie wants to run his tongue across them. 

"Awesome." Timmy shuts the fridge and opens a couple cupboards, muttering things to himself. He pulls out his phone and clearly starts making a list. 

Armie wonders if he's got enough money for all the groceries he needs. It makes him anxious, he realizes, trying to step back and observe his emotions as his therapist always asks him to do. He's never had to do this: wonder if there's enough money in his account to buy the necessities of life. 

_ No wonder he hardly sleeps.  _

He fights his own urge to push Timmy to let him go to the store instead, or to offer to order takeout and pay.  _ I'd hate it if a friend kept implying I wasn't earning enough,  _ he thinks.  _ Kept pushing me to let them pay for stuff. I'd feel indebted. Like I owed them something.  _

That isn't the vibe he wants with Timmy, at all. 

"Armie?" asks Timmy, like he's been expecting an answer. 

"Huh? Sorry." 

"What will you want to eat while I'm at work later?" 

Armie grins. "Well if I was at home it'd be—"

"—Salad, yeah, I know." Timmy rolls his eyes. "Dude." 

"Chicken soup, maybe?" Armie shrugs.  _ All the ingredients are pretty cheap. And I can leave most of it here for him to eat the next couple days.  _

"What, like make it?" Timmy's wrinkling his nose curiously,  _ and that's too fucking cute, holy shit.  _ Armie looks away. 

"Yeah," he smiles. 

"Uh—"

"Onion, celery, carrots, leeks, chicken, and stock. I generally put garlic in, but not everyone likes it. Do you like it?" 

"I'm half-French." 

Armie laughs. "Okay then." 

"You mean I'm going to get home from work to chill puppies and a bowl of chicken soup?" 

"You know I can't make  _ any _ promises about the chillness or not of the puppies." 

Timmy grins. "Holy shit. What is my life." 

Armie looks away, because he's not used to this: simple, openly-expressed gratitude, for him and for the things he does. 

"Let's go," says Timmy. "We can take my car." 

Armie suppresses the urge to say,  _ oh, we should take mine.  _ He worries it'll be obvious he's thinking about the price of gas. 

_ "How  _ did you get downstairs with both of them at once?" sighs Timmy, as they make their way down the stairs. He's hanging on tight to both Livvy's harness and the handrail. 

"Carried her," chuckles Armie. "Didn't want to risk it." 

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and Timmy's gaze flicks to Armie's shoulders, his arms. "Lucky," is all he says. "Don't think I'm even going to be able to pick her up for much longer." 

He has to push the seat right back in Timmy's car, to accommodate his long legs. Timmy grins as he does it, turning around to check on the puppies, check that the straps clipping their harnesses to the seatbelts are working fine.

"Never driven two puppies at once before," says Timmy. "Going to be interesting when they start fighting." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Don't worry. I can be on crowd control. Although I didn't bring any chicken for Livvy." 

Timmy shrugs as he pulls out of the parking spot. "You could just pretend you're going to give her kibble." 

"Oh god. Harsh. The betrayal." 

The puppies are actually pretty good; there's a short scuffle that Armie has to bring to an end with bribery, but otherwise they just sniff at things and chew various toys. 

"Have you noticed how gross my back windows are now?" asks Timmy, as they pull into the parking lot of the store. "She always licks them on the inside." 

"Oh crap, yeah, Archie does that too. And I keep forgetting to clean them. They've got a thin layer of kibble and gluey puppy spit." 

Timmy shudders. "If I take one of these spaces we're kind of near some grass. You got bags?" 

"Always." 

"Open the glove compartment," orders Timmy. 

Armie does so, and has to laugh. There are three rolls of dog poop bags in there. "Nice. Never caught short." He shifts so he can reach into his jeans pocket and pull out the seven poop bags he has in there. "Just in case." 

Timmy snorts a laugh, then helps get the puppies out of the car and onto their leashes. He sets off across the parking lot with his awkward, loping grace. 

Armie and the puppies amble towards the grass, hang out there for a while, then set off around the parking lot, getting used to the sounds of shopping carts rattling, kids yelling, and cars going by. Archie freaks out at the sound of a motorbike, zooming away and pulling on the lead, not really sure where he's going, but trying to go  _ fast.  _ Armie has to make him sit and give him one treat after another until he relaxes again. 

"Can't freak out at motorbikes, Archie. You know your dad's going to buy one, huh? You'll be riding with me before you know it." Armie smiles as he says it, knowing he'll probably never  _ actually _ buy that bike he's always wanted. 

In the distance he sees Timmy making his way back to the car, carrying two large bags of groceries. Armie's heart tugs—Timmy looks so skinny, and he wants to take the bags from his arms, relieve him of the heavy burden. 

"All good?" asks Timmy, hefting the bags into the trunk with a sigh of relief. 

"All good. Archie freaked out at a motorbike." 

"And Livs  _ didn't?" _

"She was just watching Archie in confusion." 

Timmy laughs, opening the car doors to help the puppies in. "Did you give him treats to chill him out?" 

"Yup. And told him he has to get used to motorbikes because I'm going to buy one." He wrestles Archie into a sit, trying to avoid having his face licked as he clips the seatbelt to his harness. 

"Shit, really?" asks Timmy, his expression comically surprised. Then, "Livs must be hungry by now. Need to give her more rice and chicken when we get home." 

As they pull out of the parking lot, Armie answers the question. "I don't know. I've always wanted one, but it's such a mid-life crisis cliché, isn't it? Sad old dude on his motorbike." 

Timmy laughs. "You planning on dying at sixty?" 

"Liz always said I shouldn't get one because I'd get run over." 

"Well I see her  _ point _ —guess it's dangerous. But if you really want one, then why not?" He doesn't say,  _ you broke up with her, it's none of her business now, _ but Armie can hear it behind the words. "Also, do you count as old now? Shit. I'm ageing faster than I thought."

Armie huffs a laugh, looking out of the window.  _ Why are you kind, too?  _

Outside Timmy's building, they wait for the puppies to do whatever they need, then Armie grabs the grocery bags from the trunk and carries them up the stairs. 

"Oh, man, Archie's so much easier to control than my big idiot," says Timmy, as he unlocks the apartment door. "He's still that much lighter. Pulling on his leash actually  _ does _ something." 

Armie pushes off his shoes and carries the grocery bags to the kitchen counter. He feels deep private satisfaction that Timmy didn't have to do it. His body seems to remember Timmy's: skinny and warm and so very vital, even when stressed and exhausted.

He wants to hold him again. 

"You feed the puppies, I'll put the groceries away?" Timmy drops his car and house keys next to the kettle, and Armie enjoys knowing that that's where they're kept, that it's an established place. "I bought you salad." 

Armie smiles privately to himself as he starts making up Livvy's bowl of rice and chicken.  _ I've missed this,  _ he realizes.  _ Not Liz. Just—this. Being around someone else. Doing small domestic stuff.  _

_ It doesn't feel like I've only known him a week. _

He keeps the puppies apart, making sure Archie only eats kibble and Livs only eats rice and chicken. 

Timmy's massing a pile of salad ingredients on the counter; not putting them away because he's clearly about to make lunch. "Got bacon, too. And do you like avocado?" 

_ Expensive,  _ says Armie's anxiety for Timmy's bank account.  _ Have I already made him feel like he owes me something?  _

"Of course I like avocado. Does anyone  _ not  _ like avocado?" 

Timmy laughs, awkwardly, but doesn't make any other reply; and Armie realizes suddenly that  _ Léo didn't like avocado.  _ It feels like a lead weight in his stomach. 

He tries to take a step back from his feelings as he washes up the puppies' bowls. Examine them. 

_ So you're feeling jealous about this man's ex-boyfriend?  _ asks the version of his therapist that Armie carries in his head between sessions. 

_ I—yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. And I know it makes no sense, I know we've only known each other a week. And I know I might be overreacting because—because it's the first time I've met a guy and let myself acknowledge… _

_ Acknowledge what, Armie?  _

_ Acknowledge—that I want him. That I want him.  _

_ Wanting him has nothing to do with his ex-boyfriend. He is, after all, an ex.  _

_ I—I like him, though. He seems like a good person. Someone who could be a friend. No—no—he feels like a friend already. I know that's stupid, but he does.  _

_ You're belittling your own thoughts again.  _

_ I know. Sorry.  _

_ So—a friend with benefits, then?  _

_ I—I guess after a serious relationship—I mean, we both had serious relationships— _

_ But you want more.  _

_ It's not—there's no time to find out. He's leaving in a few weeks.  _

_ Every relationship starts with just a few weeks, doesn't it?  _

"Armie?" Timmy sounds amused, like he's already been trying and failing for a while to get Armie's attention. "You good, dude?" 

"Sorry. Uh—sorry. Dreaming." 

Timmy's next to him at the sink. "Just need to wash these." He's holding a colander of lettuce, chopped bell peppers and cucumber. 

Their shoulders and arms touch as Armie puts the dog bowls on the draining board, and Timmy rinses the salad. 

"Do you mind cooking the bacon?" asks Timmy. "I don't eat it much and last time I tried to cook it, I set off the smoke alarm." He glances up, eyes hazel-green, lips a self-mocking little twist. 

Armie huffs amusement. "No problem." He sets about investigating the grill in Timmy's oven, squatting down to look. 

"So I'm loving this," says Timmy, and Armie can hear that he's smiling. "Quitting your job, buying a motorbike…" 

"Oh my god," grins Armie. "I thought friends were meant to  _ stop  _ friends from having tragic mid-life crises?" 

"Again with the mid-life bullshit." Timmy gently taps the back of Armie's head. "Pretty sure you can pull off the biker look, don't worry." 

Armie turns to give him a look. "You're no help at all." 

Timmy grins. "Test-drive one. See if you look cool enough." 

"How am  _ I _ meant to judge that?" 

"I'll come with you. Take pictures." 

"Oh, yeah, I for sure won't look like an asshole then." 

Timmy snorts a laugh. "You'll need leathers." 

Armie gives him a sidelong glare. "Stop giving me shit." 

Timmy holds up both hands. "I'm not! I wasn't." His grin is wide, his eyes full of mischief. 

"Mm-hmm," returns Armie, sceptically. "Whatever you say, Timothée." 

"Again,  _ really  _ not that bad at saying my name. Sure you don't speak French?" 

"I  _ really _ don't." 

_ "Do  _ you speak anything other than English?" 

Armie puts slices of bacon onto the grill pan and sets them under the grill. He has to bend down to keep an eye on them. 

"Spanish," he says, quietly. He's not used to being asked about his talents, and he doesn't tend to offer up the information. He's all too aware how easy it is to come across as a rich, entitled brat boasting about the achievements that a superior education has bought. 

"Oh, cool." Timmy's assembling the salad into two bowls, and the puppies are watching him with avid attention. "You two aren't getting any. Nope. People food." He touches Armie on the arm as he passes. "I bought bagels." 

_ "What?  _ Inferior LA bagels?" asks Armie, grinning to himself. 

"It's a New York brand. I checked. Googled it in the store." 

Armie snorts a laugh. "Of course you did." 

"And cream cheese." 

"Thank god. Otherwise you'd be out of here, right?" 

Timmy grins. "You know it." 

Armie pulls the grill pan out and turns the bacon over. "It'll just need another minute." 

Timmy's making a vinaigrette. He sees Armie's amused expression. "Half-French, remember? Just like my dad makes." 

"Your dad only speaks French with you, you said?" 

Timmy nods. He bites his bottom lip for a moment. "Yeah. So. Kind of bilingual. Not that I'm perfect or anything." 

_ I think you're pretty perfect.  _

"That's awesome. I feel like an asshole trying to understand or speak Spanish with actual Spanish speakers, so it must be a relief to just have it feel...I don't know. Natural." Armie pulls out the grill pan, puts the bacon on the plate Timmy indicates, and turns off the grill. 

Timmy nods, dipping his head, letting his curls fall between them. 

Armie wonders what he's thinking. 

_ Is he—missing his family?  _ He tentatively tries out the idea. He's always so relieved for the absence of his own family that he finds it hard to understand the happy, uncomplicated bond that some parents and children seem to share. 

"Guess you haven't seen your parents in a while," he says, hesitantly. 

Timmy looks up sharply. One curl in particular falls across his face, brushing his cheekbone. Every emotion is legible in his expression, flickering just beneath the surface: confusion, vulnerability, amusement. "Not since New Year. Am I that obvious?" 

Armie blinks. "Kind of seems like you might be missing them." 

Timmy half-shakes his head, wonderingly. "Yep. And my grandma. My sister. But I'm used to Pauli being away in France a lot, so." He finishes spreading cream cheese on bagels, and points to the seats at the counter. "You want to eat here? Or on the sofa? I mostly eat and watch stuff, but it's harder keeping the puppies out of it." 

"Sofa's good. Archie's used to not being allowed to eat my food. And I generally watch stuff while I eat too." He grabs one of the bowls of salad, and a piece of bagel. "Wait. Forks?" 

"That drawer there." 

"We don't need to keep watching  _ The Wife.  _ I just put it on because I've wanted to see it for ages and haven't had time." 

Timmy shrugs. "You're good. I could watch it again. What did you watch before this?" He curls onto one end of the sofa, tucking his feet up beneath him. 

_ "Blade Runner 2049.  _ Not the first time I've seen it though." 

_ "Love _ that movie." Timmy's expression lights with enthusiasm. "Want to hear a tragic bucket list item?" 

Armie gives him a look that means  _ stop putting yourself down.  _ "Sure."

"I'd love to work with Denis Villeneuve." 

"That's not tragic. Shut up." 

"Says the dude who thinks he'll look like a sad old man if he buys a motorcycle." 

This rejoinder doesn't make Armie bristle as it might have from someone else. He can't help laughing. "Alright, alright." 

"You were surprised I miss my family." The non-question hits him unexpectedly. 

Armie blinks; hesitates. Takes a breath. "I guess I'm—used to mine not being around. And right now, I—can't exactly say I miss them." 

Timmy's expression slides through realization into sympathy. "Right," is all he says. 

_ Sorry,  _ Armie wants to say.  _ I don't like talking about my family.  _ He still hasn't even talked about them much with his therapist, apart from the obvious detail of his mom being homophobic. 

"Movie?" says Timmy, picking up the remote. 

Armie smiles at him gratefully, then has to spend thirty seconds persuading Archie to lie down on the floor, instead of burying his face in the salad. 

Timmy presses play, and they continue watching; occasionally Timmy makes a comment about the acting, or the screenplay. 

Armie enjoys listening to him. The puppies play-fight over a ball for a while, but then flop down to chew a blanket. When Timmy and Armie have both finished their salad, Armie takes the bowls to the sink rather than leaving them on the coffee table and warding off the puppies. 

When Armie comes back, Timmy gives him a guilty look. "I normally let Livs up on the sofa so she can keep me warm…" 

_ Knew you get cold.  _ Armie smiles. "Archie's allowed up too, when he's invited." 

Timmy pats the sofa, and they settle the dogs down between them. Timmy cuddles Livvy close like a plushie, evading her periodic attempts to lick his face. 

As the movie nears its end, Armie looks over at Timmy, and has to grin to himself. Both Timmy and Livvy are fast asleep, breathing deeply. He wants to take a picture, then wonders if that would be creepy.  _ What if I send it to him? Would that make it less creepy?  _

Quickly, he snaps one. It's unbearably cute: Timmy's hair falls across his face as he hugs the sleeping Livvy, and his lips are parted slightly in sleep.

Armie checks his watch. He's not sure what time exactly Timmy has to leave for the theater, but an hour or so's nap will probably be safe. He sets a phone alarm just in case, then settles down to finish the movie with an arm resting loosely along Archie's back, his fingers tangling absently through the puppy's rough little curls of fur.

*


	8. Chapter 8

"Shit.  _ Fuck.  _ Seriously? What— _ shit, _ what time is it?" Timmy's gone directly from napping to sitting bolt upright, Livvy slithering to the floor with an indignant yelp. "Crap—Livs, I'm sorry—" 

Armie can't help but laugh. "Timmy, chill. It's fine. You only napped for like an hour. Which, incidentally, still doesn't add up to a full night's sleep to make up for last night." 

Timmy stares at him. His eyelashes flutter. "Why the fuck do I keep falling asleep around you? Are you a—wizard or something?" 

Armie snorts. "Okay. Not what I expected, but okay." 

Timmy sags back against the cushions, and pushes his fingers through his curls. "Fuck," he mumbles. "I  _ never _ sleep this much." 

"Do you always wake up like that?" teases Armie. "That was impressive." 

Timmy moves his foot to kick him lightly. "Ass." 

"Charming. After I did that sleep-spell and everything." 

_ "Ass."  _ Timmy nudges Armie's thigh with his foot again, slightly harder. 

"Hey." Armie grabs his phone and sends Timmy two pictures: the one of the puppies sleeping earlier, and the one of Timmy and Livvy sleeping just now. "I can't believe Livs lets you hug her like that. Archie likes being near me, but I don't think he'd let me squeeze him." 

"She's a soft idiot." Timmy smiles at the pictures. "She'll take love from anyone. She'd be a shitty guard dog. Probably invite the burglars in and bring them her toys." 

_ The pictures made him smile.  _

Armie's thoughts snag quickly on the picture in the next room:  _ Timmy and Léo, happy and in love. What about those postcards? Are those places they visited together?  _

"I'll have to get ready for work soon." Timmy pushes his hands through his hair, then rubs his eyes. "Ugh. I don't feel like this today."

Armie looks at him sympathetically. "So—what  _ is _ your play?" 

“Oh.” Timmy looks down at Livvy; plays with her ears. His cheeks are a bit pink. “It’s called  _ Velvet.  _ It’s a British playwright, a—a new play. It’s about a guy, a young actor who has to make a choice about—about how to succeed.” He pulls his knees up and hugs them. “It won a monologue award in Britain, so.”

Armie gives him a look. “So—what you’re saying is you successfully got the part in an award-winning one-man show. And you’re  _ worried  _ about your career?”

“It’s not  _ really _ one-man…”

“The way you said that suggests it kind of is.”

Timmy lets his curls fall forward, hiding his face. 

“If I check the reviews, they’re going to be great, aren’t they?”

“Don’t.” Timmy scrunches up his face in embarrassment, but—Armie notices—he doesn’t deny it. 

“Can I come see it?”

Timmy hides his face against his knees. “Argh.”

Armie laughs. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“Of course I  _ want  _ you to, because part of me’s a fucking—show-off theater brat. But the rest of me’s like, horrified.” Timmy half-laughs at himself, still behind his knees. “I get a few comp tickets. I can get you one if you want?” 

Armie shakes his head. “No, no. I’d rather support the production.”

Timmy peeks at him over his knees. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Can you warn me when—? No—no, maybe I don’t want to know—no, I don’t know—” his frown is a torture of indecision.

“Shit. Have I messed you up?”

Timmy rests his chin on his knees, hazel eyes fixed on Armie’s. There’s half a second’s hesitation before he answers. “Yup.” 

Armie takes a breath; time seems to extend unbearably. He looks down at the sofa. “Well at least you know it won’t be tonight.” He tries to say it lightly. 

“Only ’cause you’ll be home making chicken soup. That’s better. Even my show-off side agrees.” Timmy grins. “It feels like the soup should be for Livs, since she’s sick.” 

“Yeah, no. Not with garlic, onions  _ and  _ leeks in.”

“Aww. Poor pup. We should make her special soup that’s just…” he shrugs.

“Boiled chicken,” laughs Armie. “It’d be boiled chicken.”

“Yeah, I know,” Timmy pouts. “And that smells  _ so  _ gross _ .  _ So. Maybe not.” He yawns and stretches again, his foot skimming the edge of Armie’s thigh. “Armiiiiiie…” 

“Whaa-aat?” Armie returns, mimicking the tone.

“I don’t want to go to work.”

“I know. But also, you have to.”

“Says the man with three days off.”

“Only two now.”

Timmy grimaces. “I’m sorry I wasted one of your days.”

“Did you?” Armie’s genuinely surprised. “I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Why are you so  _ nice?”  _

“I’m not being  _ nice.”  _

“I know. That’s why it’s fucking— _ weird.” _ Timmy’s foot hasn’t moved, its edge still delicately touching Armie’s thigh. An unreasonable amount of Armie’s attention is focused on that warm sliver of contact. “What are you up to tomorrow, after you’ve slept off looking after two puppies for most of a day?”

Armie takes a breath.  _ Be honest. He’s not going to think you’re anything less. Only your father believes that therapy is weak and unmanly.  _ “I—have therapy. At eleven.” His chest feels tight, heart beating fast. It feels like an admission.

“You got a sitter already?” asks Timmy. “I can do it if you haven’t. I owe you. Like, massively."

Armie smiles. “Archie’s booked in with my usual sitter, so I’m good. I’ll go to the gym after. Get a couple hours to myself.” He usually needs the gym after therapy, just to let go of the things he’s been talking about. Recalibrate. 

"You should come watch the show in the evening! Maybe your sitter could have Archie for a while longer?" Timmy looks excited by the idea. 

_ I mean, I would rather go to the theater the night before another day off. I can sleep a little later on Wednesday morning. Well, once I've taken Archie outside, that is.  _

"I'll text the sitter. See if she can do the evening. She has a kid, so it's not guaranteed. Will there still be tickets?" 

Timmy grins at him, lopsidedly. "That's very flattering, but it's  _ definitely  _ not sold out, especially not on a Tuesday night. You could just walk up to the box office if you want. No need to buy in advance." 

Armie nods. "Cool. Okay." The puppies are snuffling at the leg of Timmy's coffee table. As he watches, Livvy puts out her tongue and licks it. "Livs…" laughs Armie. "Are you softening up the table-leg in preparation for nibbling, by any chance?" 

Timmy looks at them, and giggles. "Oh, shit, she does that all the time. Or when it's something I've told her not to chew? So she licks it instead." 

Armie snorts. "Archie was always chewing my watch, so I've been training him not to but now he just licks it. I have to wipe it down daily so it doesn't stink of dog-breath." 

"Oh my  _ god."  _ Timmy laughs, flopping back on the sofa and staring up at the ceiling as he stretches, arching his back. "Ugh. Dogs are so gross." He interlaces his fingers and stretches both hands above his head. "I'm going to get ready...really. Genuinely this time." He groans as he pushes himself off the sofa. 

As Timmy disappears into his bedroom, Armie gets up too, and goes to wash the dishes from lunch. 

"Stop," yells Timmy, from the next room. "Dude—just leave the dishes—" 

Armie can't help smiling to himself. He wipes down the grill pan and puts it back in the oven. 

"You gotta stop, man," sighs Timmy. He's already wearing big brown boots, and carrying a grey backpack. He walks to the kettle to collect his car keys. For a second his hand hovers over the other keys too. "No, wait—force of habit. You're keeping those keys for when the puppies need to go out—" he's half-talking to himself. Then, "you can't just clear up after me the whole time." 

"Us," shrugs Armie. "We both ate." He holds out the plate with two halves of cream cheese bagel still on it. "One for the road?" 

"Mmm." Timmy grabs one and holds it higher when the puppies immediately cluster at his feet. "Oh hi there, pups. Was there something you wanted?" 

There's a half-moment of awkward silence, and then Timmy shrugs his backpack further onto his shoulder. 

"Cool. So—I'll see you later." 

Armie leans back against the kitchen counter, and nods. "Yup. Break a leg." 

Timmy grins. "Thanks. Bye, Livs, bye Archie. Nope, still  _ my _ bagel—" 

When the door shuts behind him, Armie takes a breath. He keeps Archie and Livs in sit and wait while he eats the half-bagel left from lunch, then washes up the plate. Every action feels strange, being here alone in Timmy's apartment. Armie feels almost self-conscious, like Timmy is still  _ here  _ in some way—all around him. 

He's pretty sure that thought shouldn't be somehow  _ sexy. _

He takes the puppies downstairs again, then does an intense half-hour of fetch with them in the apartment, which he finally brings to an end when Livs goes flailing into the TV and consoles table and nearly brings the whole thing to the floor. 

After that, he works on 'sit', 'down' and 'heel' commands for a while, and manages to get a short video of them both doing 'sit' and 'down' in unison. 

Timmy texts at nearly half past seven.

Timmy:  **you guys all good? **

Armie replies with the video. 

Timmy:  **ok i'm just embarrassed now...i get chicken soup, magic sleep spells and dog training? uhhh **

Armie:  **This is after we all nearly destroyed your TV and consoles with a way too vigorous game of fetch so don't be too grateful **

Timmy:  **ha you should've seen me the first time i caught her trying to chew the PS4 **

Armie:  **Aren't you meant to be on stage? **

Timmy:  **nah this is the bit where i'm about to go on + i sit here trying not to hurl **

Armie:  **Oh fun. You'll do great **

Timmy: 🤢 

Armie:  **Go, go! Enjoy ☺️**

Timmy: ✌️❤️

Luckily, the puppies collapse for a while after the play and training session, falling asleep next to the sofa. Armie manages to tiptoe away to use the bathroom without waking them. 

On his way back through Timmy's room, he stops and—feeling like a creep—slowly unpins one of the postcards from the wall. It's not a souvenir of a joint trip with Léo, though; it's from Timmy's parents, a holiday to Corsica. 

Carefully, Armie pins the postcard back exactly where it had been before. He leaves the bedroom quickly, heart a little lighter. 

In the living room, Armie moves silently, trying not to disturb the puppies. He examines the bookshelves, and smiles when he finds a copy of  _ Midnight's Children,  _ leaning at a drunken angle where other books were obviously taken from next to it. 

_ This is Timmy's. Not Léo's.  _

He takes the book down, and starts it again. It's been a few years since he read those first fifty pages. 

He's at page fifty-six when Timmy texts again. 

Timmy:  **interval. how are the pups? **

Armie snaps a picture of the snoozing puppies, and sends it. 

Timmy: 😍😍😍

Timmy:  **how are you? **

Armie sends a picture of page fifty-six. 

Timmy:  **is that midnight's children? + do you only communicate in pictures? **

Armie smiles. 

Armie: 👍

Timmy: 🙄  **i guess i asked for that**

Timmy: ✌️❤️

By the time the puppies start roaming again, Armie's at page ninety-three. He feeds them their dinners, then takes them downstairs for a quick walk around the block and to use the grass. 

His mind keeps snagging on tomorrow's therapy session; on what they might discuss, on what his therapist might ask. He doesn't  _ feel  _ anxious—his breathing is fine, and he can't detect his pulse racing—but the fact that his mind keeps jumping to it tells him that he is. 

Once they're home, Armie starts slowly making the chicken soup, frying off the garlic, onions and leeks as he dices the carrots. 

The puppies follow him curiously, watching him and occasionally jumping up to plant their front paws against his leg or a cabinet, while he tells them to get down. He kicks a ball for them as he cooks, relying on that to keep them slightly occupied. 

He lets the chicken soup simmer for quite a while, reading his book standing up next to the stove. Archie brings him a tug toy and they have a rather chaotic game, since Livvy keeps latching onto the center of the rope between them and pulling in a different direction altogether. 

Armie's laughing by the end of it, and only realizes he's missed another two calls from his mom when he checks his phone a few minutes later. 

He swipes away the notifications, trying not to let himself feel guilty. 

He opens his texts and rereads her last message, from a couple days ago. 

Mom:  **Darling stop ignoring me. I saw Elizabeth last weekend and you don't have much longer to put this right. She won't wait around forever for you to come to your senses. **

Armie closes the message and locks his phone; puts it down on the counter with an audible  _ click.  _ Takes a shaky breath. 

_ She's still talking to Liz. Still giving her the idea I'm going to come back to her.  _

_ I have to talk to my mom. Stop her. _

_ But when she asks why...what the fuck should I say?  _

He knows—in his secret heart—that he's not going to talk to his mom. 

Once the soup is done he takes a bowlful and eats it standing up at the counter, along with another bagel. It's pretty tasty, he has to admit. 

He texts with his sitter, confirming that she's able to keep Archie during the evening tomorrow too. 

Just as he's finished thanking her, his phone lights with another message.

Nick:  **Your mom just tried to call me again **

Armie sighs. 

Armie:  **Sorry man. I don't want to talk to her **

Nick:  **Neither do I! **

Armie grimaces. 

Armie: ** I know. And I am sorry**

Nick:  **You owe me a lot of beers to make up for this **

Armie:  **You always think I owe you beers **

Nick:  **You always do. Want to get a head start on some of your debt tomorrow night? **

Armie:  **Can't. Out **

Nick:  **Who the fuck with? I'm the only friend you apparently want to talk to **

Armie:  **Don't flatter yourself, asshole. Another friend. I have other friends **

Nick:  **No you HAD other friends. Until you ignored them for weeks **

Armie: 🙄🙄🙄 

Nick:  **Oh shit have you got a date**

Armie grins and rolls his eyes, leaving that one hanging. 

_ It's not a date. And I guess technically I'm not going out with anyone, either. I'll be in the audience and he'll be on the stage.  _

He settles on the sofa, and pats the cushion next to him to invite the puppies to jump up too. When they finally settle, he pushes on with a few more pages of the book, enjoying it much more this time. Still, he's not made much of a dent in its length. 

Timmy:  **done! just setting off **

Armie: 👍 

He wants to go check that he pinned the postcard back in place correctly; wants to wash up his soup bowl. But the puppies are curled against him, quiet for a while, pawing and licking desultorily at one another. He's not planning to disturb that, but it's harder to concentrate on the book now that he knows Timmy's going to be here again soon. 

When the apartment buzzer goes, the puppies leap off the sofa and rush towards the door. Livvy clearly knows where Timmy's going to appear from, and Archie follows her, skidding to a halt next to her. 

Armie laughs, following them more slowly. He buzzes Timmy into the building, then unlocks the apartment door and takes hold of the puppies' collars. 

He has to let go when Timmy appears and closes the door behind himself, because Livvy is flinging herself at Timmy with such joyous abandon that she risks choking. 

Timmy laughs and kneels down to submit to her adoring bounces and licks, and to Archie's ecstatic wriggling. 

"Oh my god, Livs, chill, baby, c'mon—oof, Archie, you're as much of a lump as this one, sometimes—" 

"Archie, come," laughs Armie, holding out a treat to tempt Archie away. "Headbutting isn't necessarily the  _ best  _ way to tell people you're happy to see them, you know." 

Timmy stands up, and starts taking off his boots. "No idea what you mean. I feel  _ very  _ loved. And a tiny bit…tenderized." He shrugs off his backpack too, then takes that and his boots into the bedroom. 

When Timmy emerges, Armie tries to stop himself staring. Somehow, Timmy looks even more striking than usual. He's pale— _ tired, probably,  _ thinks Armie—but his eyes are glittering brightly, and his cheeks are flushed pink. 

Armie suddenly feels awkward, wondering if Timmy will want him to leave now he's home, wondering if he ought to start putting his shoes on. 

"Oh my  _ god," _ says Timmy, stirring the soup. "I've been  _ fantasizing  _ about this the whole way home." He takes a bowl out of the cupboard and fills it with chicken soup, then sets it to heat in the microwave. "You already had some, right?" 

Armie nods, then remembers his bowl, sitting by the sink. He moves to wash it up, but Timmy slaps his hand forcefully into the center of Armie's chest. 

"Oh my god. Stop. You made me dinner. _Stop_ doing the dishes." 

Armie sighs, smiling. Right now Timmy seems to  _ glow,  _ to be almost electrically charged; he's quick, expressive, talking with his hands, with his whole body—even more so than usual.

"Good performance?" asks Armie. 

Timmy shrugs, grinning lopsidedly. The microwave beeps and he takes out the bowl of soup, grabs a spoon, and tries some. "Oh my god. Oh my god? This is  _ so good.  _ This is like,  _ not  _ what I'm used to. Normally I come home to a bowl of cereal.  _ If _ I've remembered to buy milk." He slurps another spoonful then answers Armie's question. "Good, yeah. Sorry if I seem kind of—y'know, wired. I uh—I'm always like this when the show's over, it's the adrenaline or something, but I know I kind of seem like I'm on drugs." 

Armie laughs; shrugs. "No, no." He hesitates. "Should I—" he gestures vaguely in the direction of the door. 

Timmy looks up at him, eyes wide. He bites his lip. "I—guess you must be tired?" he asks, and Armie can hear clear disappointment in his voice. 

"No, no, I'm good, I just don't want to…" he half-shrugs.  _ Overstay my welcome.  _

"Stay a bit longer. You want to play  _ Street Fighter?" _

Armie laughs. "So when you come home from the theater you just want to play beat-em-ups?" 

Timmy pushes Armie playfully. "What of it?" 

"Nothing, nothing. Let's do it. But I'm at a major disadvantage. I don't know how many years it is since I last played one." 

Timmy gapes at him. "Whaaaat? Do you not play games much, or…" 

Armie shrugs; looks down to pet Archie when he feels a small wet nose nudging into his palm. "I didn't really—before. For a long time."  _ When I was with Liz.  _ "Since—getting my own place I've been playing again, but more story-based stuff. So." 

"Cool." Timmy upends the bowl to finish the last gulp of soup. "Fuck, that was good. What've you been playing?" 

_ "The Last of Us,  _ at the moment. I know it's really old, but I have some catching up to do." 

"Love that game. If you want to play something with more story—" 

Armie shakes his head. "I'm good. I loved  _ Soulcalibur  _ and  _ Tekken  _ when I was a kid so I'm sure it'll come back." 

Timmy pushes the coffee table to one side, and settles on the floor in front of the sofa. He's still practically vibrating with energy and adrenaline, and suddenly Armie can see why he's not getting a lot of sleep. 

_ Must be hard to switch off after being on stage like that.  _ Armie can hardly take his eyes off Timmy, off his swift, sure movements, his wide smile and his bright green eyes. 

Armie takes a seat on the sofa, while Timmy starts the game. The puppies are drawn to Timmy, Livvy trying to lick his ear, and Archie attempting a fascinated nibble to the games controller. Armie redirects him with a piece of kibble. 

"Let's just do a few to warm up?" asks Timmy. "Jump right in so you get the feel for it."

Armie nods. He feels slow and stupid, most of his brain taken up with new impressions of Timmy.  _ His curls are a little out of place. The back of his neck looks so soft.  _ Armie wants to graze the pad of his thumb across the pale skin there, and follow it with a brush of his lips. 

Timmy easily wins the first few games, but Armie soon gets a handle on the weapons and characters; the first time he wins, he's unsure whether Timmy let him or not. The second time, though, Timmy turns around and punches him on the leg, eyes creased with laughter. 

"Shit, you're getting too good at this." 

"You want to change game?" asks Armie, with a grin. 

Timmy laughs. "I'm good. I'll just up my game." 

Every game becomes a hard-fought battle, and before long Armie's joined Timmy on the floor, kneeling up as they fight, howling in defeat when Timmy wins a point, wrestling Timmy off when he digs his elbow into Armie's ribs during a battle—

"Cheat, you filthy fucking  _ cheat—" _

Timmy snorts a giggle and elbows Armie in the stomach instead, and this time Armie retaliates, leaning back against him, pushing him against the sofa, trying to stop him using a particular combo in the game that could—

Timmy manages, and Armie growls, throwing down his controller and turning to dig his fingers into Timmy's ribs. 

Timmy giggles uncontrollably, trying vainly to writhe away as Armie tickles him, and eventually grabbing a handful of Armie's hair to pull in retaliation. 

Both laughing breathlessly, grinning at one another, they back off. 

_ "Cheat,  _ Chalamet." 

"You're just as bad." 

"Only 'cause you started it." 

The puppies are watching them with sleepy interest. 

Armie looks down and strokes Archie's ears. "These two are tired." 

Slowly, Timmy drops Armie's gaze, and nods. "Yeah. Guess I should really take a shower and try to sleep." 

"Guess I should get this one home." Armie pats Archie's side, and the little puppy flops over for belly rubs. 

Timmy's gaze is a little questioning, somehow, flashing green at Armie from under his eyelashes; but Armie can't read the message, can't figure out the reason behind Timmy's hesitation. 

"Armie—" Timmy bites his lip, and stops. After a couple seconds, he half-shakes his head and takes a breath. "Thanks," he says, at last. "For everything. This morning, and today, and—everything." 

Armie looks down at the floor, knowing his cheeks are turning pink. "It's really not a problem." He doesn't know why his heart is suddenly beating faster. 

When he looks up, Timmy's smiling widely at him. "You're not very good at taking thanks or compliments, are you?" he asks. 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Alright, alright. Yeah, no. I'm not—great at it." 

"You're very kind," Timmy says, with a disarming little grin. 

"Argh." 

"And you make  _ great  _ soup." 

"Shhh." 

"Your dog training is excellent." 

"Stop." 

"You learn new games  _ way  _ too fast—" 

"I'm leaving," Armie grins, cheeks red. He gets up and goes to put his shoes on, Archie and Livvy following him curiously. 

"You got Archie's food?" asks Timmy. 

"Yeah, he finished the box of it I brought." Armie picks up his backpack and slings it over one shoulder. "Livs had her dinner at the same time." 

Timmy nods. He steps up and holds out  _ Midnight's Children.  _ "Better keep your momentum." 

"I have my copy—" 

"Yeah, but that's the one you abandoned." 

Armie smiles, and takes the book. He clips Archie into his harness and lead, then ducks his head. "So. See you tomorrow night, I guess. Well, I mean, I'll see you on stage." 

"Oh, you have to come see me after," says Timmy quickly, scrunching up his nose. "Don't just go home. Come by the stage door." 

Armie nods. "Uh—sure. You want me to ask you for your autograph?" 

Timmy grins, half-confidence, half-self-deprecating humor. "You know it." 

Armie huffs a laugh, and opens the door. "Right. See you then." 

"Cool." Timmy hangs onto Livvy's collar as she attempts to rush out after Archie. "Thanks again man. For today." 

Armie raises the book in salute and sets off down the stairs, keeping Archie on a tight leash so he doesn't rush ahead. 


	9. Chapter 9

Even though his therapy session isn't until eleven, the next morning feels rushed. Armie's ten minutes late dropping Archie off with the sitter, and has to drive fast to get to his appointment on time. 

By the time he leaves the session, he feels the usual post-therapy combination of exhaustion and antsiness, a strange grey, dragging mood that he needs to get rid of with sleep or exercise, or both. 

His gym kit is in the trunk of his car, and he drives slowly across town in a dreamlike state. 

_ So you are attracted to him?  _

_ Yes. Yes. Of course I am. I mean—you haven't seen him, but—yes. Yes, I am.  _

_ And you like him? You think of him as a friend?  _

Slowly, Armie had nodded. 

_ You know when you just—click with someone? When they just feel right to be around?  _

_ Do you think he is attracted to you?  _

Armie had blinked. 

_ No. I don't know. I mean—I don't want to come across like a creep, like I'm just… _

_ Like you're just…? _

_ Just trying to be friends with him to—you know.  _

_ Sleep with him?  _

_ Yeah.  _

_ Why would he think that?  _

_ Well. We've only known each other a week.  _

_ Why do you think he would find it off-putting if he knew you were attracted to him?  _

_ It's just—all that Grindr stuff is…maybe I'm wrong but I just get the impression he's into…more than that. Better.  _

_ Do you think your ex-fiancée was aware that you wanted to sleep with her from your early meetings?  _

_ Yes. I mean—I was a dumb kid. Yeah, I guess she did know.  _

_ Grindr allows men to openly express their desires and easily meet one another to fulfill them. Does that bother you?  _

Armie had swallowed, frowning, breath catching in his chest. 

_ Sometimes I worry I'm homophobic.  _

_ Perhaps the open expression of desire bothers you more.  _

_ I—I don't know.  _

_ You say that you find him easy to be around? Good company?  _

_ Yes.  _

_ Do you think he feels the same?  _

_ I—he invited me to stay a bit longer last night. When he got home from the theater. But I'm not sure how many friends he has in LA, and— _

_ How do you think he would react if you—for example—invited him out for dinner?  _

Armie's heart had lurched in his chest. 

_ Even if he said no, he wouldn't be...he seems...kind.  _

_ So there would be nothing wrong with—progressing your relationship in the way you would like to, would there?  _

_ I'm—I'm not sure I would like to.  _

_ Why not?  _

_ I've never been with—a man. Pretty sure it wouldn't be the best experience for him.  _

_ Well, maybe not the first time. But is any couple's first time their best?  _

_ We wouldn't be—I don't think we'd be a couple.  _

_ No?  _

_ He was in a relationship until recently. A pretty serious one. He—the guy he was with—cheated on him.  _

_ You were also in a relationship until recently. Perhaps you don't need anything too serious again so soon?  _

Armie had looked down at the floor.  _ Yeah. Yeah, maybe.  _

_ You are not convinced.  _

_ He just—seems like a great guy. I feel like he—deserves the best, you know?  _

_ Well that is an excellent basis for a respectful relationship, of any kind.  _

Armie pulls into the gym parking lot and grabs his bag from the trunk. As he changes into his kit in the locker room, his mind wanders. 

_ And your mother called again?  _

_ Yeah. Yeah, she did. Twice.  _

_ But you did not pick up?  _

_ No.  _

_ Your voice changes when you speak about her. Why? Describe your emotions.  _

_ Annoyance—no—anger. Guilt.  _

_ Guilt?  _

_ For not speaking to her for so long.  _

_ And what are your reasons for that decision?  _

_ I don't know what I can say. I—I can't tell her I'm not straight. Not yet. I know it probably seems cowardly but I just—can't.  _

_ Does it seem cowardly to you?  _

_ Yes. Of course it does. _

_ Why?  _

_ People in much worse situations than me come out all the time.  _

_ Why does that make a difference?  _

_ I just—I just feel like I've been lying all my life. Not just about my—sexuality. About the kind of job I want. The kind of life I want.  _

_ I don't believe that makes you a coward.  _

Armie had grimaced, and stared down at his hands. 

_ Anger, at your mother?  _

_ Yes.  _

_ Why?  _

_ Because she's not easy to talk to. Because I know she won't listen. Because she's still trying to persuade my ex-fiancée to stay with me. Get back together with me, I mean. _

_ Why is she doing that?  _

_ Because…she believes it would be best for the family.  _

_ But why, in purely practical terms, is she doing that?  _

Reluctantly, Armie had dragged out the words. 

_ Because she doesn't know why I broke up with Liz.  _

_ I am not saying that her attitudes or actions would necessarily change, even were you to talk to her, Armie.  _

_ I know.  _

_ But perhaps—for your own sense of self—you need to give her the opportunity?  _

_ Maybe. But— _

_ But?  _

_ I'm—I'm afraid of the power she has to hurt me. She's always been able to—hurt me. _

Armie's trainer has him start with a brutal set of sprints, during which he has no time to think. And then it's arm and shoulder day, and Armie accepts it every time his trainer ups the ante, ups the weight. By the end of it he's gasping, almost winded, and the cool-down session on the rowing machine nearly kills him. 

As he leaves, his mind is a gratefully-exhausted blank. 

Home feels strange without Archie; too quiet. Armie takes just enough of a shower to get rid of the gym-sweat, and crawls into bed. Sleep overtakes him quickly. 

He naps for a couple hours in the end, and when he wakes, therapy seems to loom less large in his mind. He yawns, rubbing his eyes, running his hands up into his hair. 

He checks his phone. 

Nick:  **WHO'S YOUR DATE WITH **

Armie rolls his eyes, but his heart skips a beat when he sees that Timmy's texted too.

Timmy:  **still on for tonight? **

Armie:  **Of course 👍 Looking forward to it**

Timmy:  **got your autograph book???? **

Armie snorts a laugh, imagining Timmy's expression. 

Armie:  **I was planning to buy a programme just for you to sign **

Timmy:  **!! i'll get my autographing hand ready **

Armie:  **How's Livs? **

Timmy:  **are you asking for a pic? **

Armie:  **Always **

Timmy:  **send dogs? **

Armie blushes and bites his lip.  _ Is that flirty?  _ His heart misses a beat. 

Armie:  **Dogs plz **

Timmy: 😂 

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **look at that little fucking cutie. I guess Archie's with the sitter?**

Armie:  **Yep. Did you get any sleep last night? **

Timmy:  **some. kind of **

Armie: 🙄🙁 

Timmy:  **livs has stopped pooping like you said! it's weird. saoirse's going to be so happy 😂 **

Timmy:  **sorry. you didn't sign up for daily updates about my dog's poop **

Armie:  **No I mean most of my attention currently focuses on Archie's digestion, so **

Timmy:  ***looks despairingly at my life* **

Armie: 🤦 

Armie rolls reluctantly out of bed and pulls on sweats and a t-shirt, then goes to make a salad. He drinks a mug of coffee as he makes it, yawning. It feels odd not to feed Archie little scraps of chicken. 

Nick:  **ARMIE. Don't be a dick**

Armie:  **I don't have a date. You're insane **

Nick:  **Then who the fuck are you going out with **

Armie:  **I told you I have other friends **

Nick:  **No you don't **

Armie: 🖕 

He keeps reading  _ Midnight's Children  _ as he slowly eats his salad, letting the story absorb him. Once he's finished eating, he settles down on the sofa to continue reading. 

He reads until past page two hundred, then stretches and groans.  _ I should take another shower. Think about what to wear.  _

_ What if I did invite him out to dinner after the theater?  _

_ Would he say yes?  _

_ I mean—I'm sure he'd say yes as a friend. Not sure about anything else.  _

_ He probably doesn't even want to see anyone right now. Léo and he looked so happy, in that picture…  _

Armie's heart sinks, thinking about Timmy's lips on Léo's cheek. He puts the book down and pads into the bedroom; opens his wardrobe. 

Eventually he settles on slim grey pants and a white shirt, open at the collar. He hopes it strikes a balance: formal enough to look like he dressed up a little for Timmy's show, but not like he's come straight from work. 

He takes a more careful shower, enjoying the fact that he doesn't have to worry about Archie being alone in the apartment and destroying things.

Styling his hair in the mirror, he realizes it needs cutting. With year-end at work he's barely had time to think, let alone worry about grooming. 

He shaves carefully, and surveys himself self-consciously in the mirror.  _ Will he think it's too much?  _

_ He's not even going to see me until after the show. I'll probably look crumpled again by then.  _ He turns away from the mirror, fiddling with the strap of his watch. 

He arrives at the theater a little early; buys a ticket and a programme from the box office and a beer from the bar.  _ Just one, so I can drive later.  _

Timmy: 🤢  **it's worse knowing you're going to watch me **

Armie smiles. 

Armie:  **I can fuck off?**

Timmy:  **nope. my actor side needs that sweet sweet validation plz **

Armie almost laughs out loud.

Armie:  **You're confident.**

Timmy:  **you know i'm not really at all**

Armie:  **You're a walking contradiction.**

Armie:  **I bought that programme for you to sign**

Armie:  **Did your family already come to see you in the show?**

Timmy:  **now that would be an expensive show ticket. no **

_ Did Léo?  _ wonders Armie.  _ He must have. He was right here.  _

Armie:  **You haven't really had much chance to show off at all, then.**

Timmy:  **you're too nice** 😂

Armie:  **Shhhhh**

Timmy: 🙄🙄 

Timmy:  **where are you sitting? **

Armie:  **Stalls. Row K **

Timmy:  **i won't be able to see you **

Armie:  **Can you see some of the audience? **

Timmy:  **the front couple rows of the stalls, the front row of the balcony **

Timmy:  **but it's not like i really want to make eye contact or whatever **

Armie:  **I'm too tall to sit at the front. Just going to take my seat. **

Timmy: 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢  **i hope you don't think it's shit **

Armie can't help smiling fondly at his phone.  _ Idiot.  _

Armie:  **Pretty sure I won't. Break a leg! **

Timmy:  **how bad would you feel if i actually broke my leg **

Armie: 🙄😂  **Get ready to start, idiot 😂 **

Timmy:  **oh charming**

Armie:  **I'm not texting you anymore**

Timmy: ✌️❤️ 

It takes Armie about a minute to be completely enthralled by Timmy's acting. He's incredible. He owns the stage; even though he's so slight, so young-looking, he holds the audience in the palm of his hand from the moment he steps in front of them until the second the curtain falls for the intermission. 

The sheer power of his command of the character, the way he allows it to take him over, to  _ live _ through him—has Armie breathless. Speechless. He feels almost dazed as he stands in a corner of the bar, drinking a bottle of water. 

Around him is a buzz of chatter: people talking about the play, and about the extraordinary young actor playing the lead. 

Timmy:  **all good? **

Armie reads the message, but has no idea how to respond. 

It doesn't feel like joking with his friend, not anymore. He feels like he should be more respectful, somehow. Pay homage to Timmy's raw talent. 

The minutes extend, and he still doesn't know how to reply. 

The bell in the bar rings; and Armie makes his way slowly back to his seat. At the last minute, he sends a quick text. 

Armie:  **Very good** 👍 

It's woefully, painfully inadequate; but Armie has no idea how to put what he's feeling into words. 

By the end of the show, there are tears sliding down his face. He wipes them away, fiercely, surreptitiously. Heads for the bathroom. 

In the lobby, he pulls on his jacket and holds his programme in a slightly-shaking hand. 

_ I'm nervous,  _ he realizes.  _ I'm nervous about seeing Timmy. And last night we were playing Street Fighter at midnight after I helped him out with his sick puppy.  _

Everything feels slightly surreal. 

After ten minutes, the majority of the audience has made their way through the lobby and out to continue their evenings; there are a few little knots of people left, lingering, chatting, finishing drinks. Armie takes a breath, and heads around the side of the tiny theater to find the stage door. 

It's very unprepossessing; barely even labelled. No-one else is waiting. Armie leans against the wall, and checks his phone. Nothing from Timmy, though he'd seen Armie's last message. 

Armie wonders whether to text, but feels a pang of nervousness at the thought. He doesn't know what Timmy's post-show routine is, and doesn't want to hurry him. Folding the programme in half, he shoves his hands awkwardly into his jacket pockets. 

When the door opens with a heavy clunk, Armie's heart jolts. 

Timmy looks delicate, somehow; out of proportion now that Armie's seen the power of his acting. He seemed to grow as Armie watched him on stage, and now here he is, slim and pale, curls mussed, but with that same restless fire in his eyes that he'd had last night, too. 

His hazel gaze meets Armie's, fierce and questioning, all at once. 

Armie doesn't know if he can still breathe, but he tries for a grin. "Will you sign this for me, Mr Chalamet?" he asks, holding out the programme— _ still folded,  _ he realizes,  _ stupid _ —and the pen he'd brought from home.  _ _

And Timmy laughs, eyes bright, ducking his head. His cheeks are pink, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. "I didn't know if you liked it," he mumbles, taking the pen. "From your message." 

Armie's throat feels stoppered, too tight to speak. He doesn't have the words. He watches dumbly as Timmy signs the programme, across the picture of his own face. 

_ Try. Come on. Try.  _

"It was—you were—incredible." 

Timmy looks up at him for a long, silent moment. Then—awkwardly, quickly—hands the programme back. He's still holding the pen. Armie surrenders it willingly. 

"Thanks," Timmy mumbles, looking down at the floor. 

Armie swallows. He can hardly hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. "I—you're probably busy or you have to pick up Livs, or...but—if—we could grab dinner? Somewhere, together, I mean. If you wanted." 

_ Jesus fuck. How old am I? Twelve?  _

Timmy bites his lip and looks up at Armie through his eyelashes. Armie has the odd impression that he's checking for sincerity. 

"I—do have to pick up Livs," he says, after a minute. "But we could order takeout, maybe? You could come to mine. If you still want to get dinner." 

Armie takes a breath, trying to loosen the bands around his chest, slow the beating of his heart. "Sounds good," he manages, at last. "I'll have to go pick up Archie in a couple hours, but…" 

Timmy smiles. "Cool, cool." 

There's a moment where no-one says anything, and they both seem to realize that they're standing next to the stage door, not moving. Timmy makes a move towards the parking lot, and Armie keeps step. 

"You want to follow me to my friend's?" asks Timmy. "Or meet me at home? I can give you my keys." 

"How about I pick us up food?" asks Armie. His brain seems to be functioning again, even if his heart's still beating overly fast. "Then meet you at yours. What do you want to eat?" 

Timmy chews his bottom lip, then smiles. "I had chicken soup for lunch again. It was still great." 

"I said what do you want for  _ dinner,"  _ grumbles Armie, half-smiling at his own inability to take a compliment. 

Timmy rolls his eyes, grinning. "I kind of just want a cheeseburger." 

Armie chuckles; shrugs. "That I can do. Pickles, or not? Sauces? Fries?" 

_ "Everything."  _

This time, Armie has to laugh. "Hungry?" 

Timmy nods, grinning at him. 

Armie takes a step away, towards his car. "Okay. So—see you at yours." 

*

Armie climbs the stairs to Timmy's apartment, trying to tell his squirming stomach that it doesn't need to be nervous. 

_ This is ridiculous. I've already seen him, after the show. Everything was good.  _

_ Why the fuck am I nervous again?  _

_ This is—this is more of a friend thing, getting takeout together.  _

_ He turned me down for a date, but kindly. Just like I said to Jane.  _

_ We're still friends.  _

He can hear Timmy already, as he approaches the half-open door. 

"Livs—Jesus Christ—Livs, baby, it's just Armie, you  _ know  _ Armie, you don't need to—fuck, sorry," he groans, as Livvy evades his grip on her collar and throws herself on Armie. 

Armie laughs, pushing the bag of food into Timmy's hands and kneeling down to pet Livvy. "Well  _ this  _ is flattering," he grins, patting her sides and fussing her ears. "I assumed it was the burgers you wanted, hmm? Isn't it, Livs? You're an affectionate idiot, aren't you?  _ Yes.  _ You  _ are." _

"Shit,  _ fancy  _ burgers," says Timmy, from the kitchen. 

Armie stands up, and pushes the apartment door completely closed behind himself. Shrugs off his jacket. "Thought you deserved it, after the show," he says, offhandedly. 

_ You were incredible.  _

Armie toes off his shoes, and pads into the kitchen after Timmy. 

He's stunning. Eyes still bright, cheeks still flushed with adrenaline, every movement assured. Armie doesn't want to be caught staring, but he can hardly tear his gaze away. 

"You really enjoyed it?" asks Timmy, and suddenly Armie can see the self-doubt beneath the elation of the performance. 

Armie shakes his head, slightly. "Tim…I'm not even sure what to say, okay? You're—I mean, it's not like I'm some expert but the whole performance, you just fucking— _ shone.  _ I don't even know how else to—" he looks away, down at the floor. "Sorry. I know that's not very—but in the intermission, I was listening, and all I could hear was people saying how amazing you are, so it wasn't just me, and—" 

Timmy puts his hand on Armie's arm, and Armie falls silent. 

"Armie—" Timmy sounds like he's having trouble getting words out, too. Tight. Breathless.

Armie looks up, and their eyes meet. Timmy's are green, full of something Armie can't quite unravel. 

Timmy takes a half-step closer, into Armie's space; and Armie's heart kicks in his chest, fear and excitement thrilling down his spine with no time to examine why—

Timmy presses up on his tiptoes and their lips brush, and Armie doesn't move because _ this can't be happening, can it? Is it? Is this really— _

Timmy's lips are soft and warm; one of his curls tickles Armie's cheek, and Armie reaches up to brush it away but his hand gets lost, somehow, coming to rest on Timmy's jaw instead, his thumb skimming the delicate skin at Timmy's throat—

Timmy's breath catches and there's an instant where they pull apart, where their gazes meet and then Armie steps closer still, slides his hand to cup the back of Timmy's neck and kisses him again, harder, lips not  _ open  _ exactly but willing, ready, if—

Timmy takes what's offered and licks Armie's lower lip; and Armie can feel those lips curve in a little smile so he smiles too, because  _ how could you not, when a boy this beautiful is kissing you  _ and—

_ A boy.  _

_ This beautiful.  _

_ A boy.  _

_ Timmy. He's Timmy. And that's what matters.  _

—and Timmy's tongue teases Armie's top lip, too; until Armie pulls him just a little closer, every point of contact still gentle, his fingers tentative-soft on the nape of Timmy's neck. 

When they break apart, Timmy hums and smiles; puts his hand in the center of Armie's chest. "Okay?" he asks. 

Armie almost laughs. He feels light; maybe a little hysterical. 

"What was that for?" 

Timmy grins. "Oh, you know. Fancy burgers. Praise." 

Armie can't stop grinning. He must look like a fucking idiot. 

Timmy's hand strokes up to Armie's neck; falls again, to follow the line of his collarbone through his shirt. "I like this shirt on you." 

_ I like everything you wear. Everything you do.  _

Timmy's fingers come to rest at Armie's collar. He looks up into Armie's eyes; and now his gaze asks for reassurance, just a little. 

_ I haven't said it was okay. More than okay.  _

Armie reaches out and touches Timmy's chin; tucks a curl behind his ear. He wants to pull him in, kiss him again and again. 

_ Fuck dinner. Fuck everything except kissing you.  _

He kisses the end of Timmy's nose, because he's wanted to for a week; and Timmy wrinkles his nose curiously. 

"Watch something, with dinner?" asks Armie. He feels lost, unsure how to go on, now. 

Timmy grins. "Sure." His look says:  _ you're very cool about this.  _

_ I'm not cool. I'm desperate to kiss you. I'm sinking.  _

Armie wraps his fingers around Timmy's wrist as he makes to turn; pulls him back, into another kiss.  _ I want you. I want you.  _

They slip from one kiss into another; longer, more breathless. Timmy turns his wrist in Armie's grasp; runs his fingers along the inside of Armie's arm, into the crook of his elbow. It sends a shiver down Armie's spine. 

Timmy holds both of Armie's arms, and pulls him to the sofa. 

They both laugh as Timmy pushes Armie to sit and follows him down, into his lap; as Armie falls to the side and pulls Timmy with him; as Timmy's curls cascade into Armie's face, and Armie blows them away. 

Timmy interlaces their fingers; pushes their hands above Armie's head. Kisses him again. Hums satisfaction, smiling. 

"Did you want dinner…?" he teases, after a while. 

"Fuck dinner," murmurs Armie, pulling him in again, turning, pressing him against the back cushions of the sofa. 

Timmy grins, and runs his hand into Armie's hair. Rubs his scalp; pulls softly at a handful of strands. 

A shiver of pleasure runs down Armie's spine, pooling as warmth in his stomach, tension in his thighs. Armie realizes that he's hard. 

_ So's Timmy.  _

_ Timmy's hard, with me. Because of me.  _

_ Does he—is he going to want me to—  _

"Hey." Timmy nips at Armie's bottom lip. "You good?" he murmurs. His eyes are soft hazel, half-lidded with pleasure, a stark contrast to the gleaming brightness of his post-show adrenaline high. His cheeks are hectic though, more flushed than before. 

Slowly, Armie nods. Brushes their lips together again. 

"Armie…" Timmy lays his palm flat against Armie's neck, over his racing pulse. "You've not been with a guy before?" 

Armie's breath catches in a half-laugh.  _ Is it that obvious?  _ He shakes his head. "No."

Timmy smiles; his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I'm not saying that like, 'I can tell you haven't been with a guy before'. I just figured, given what you'd said about—everything." 

Armie flashes him a look that's probably too grateful. "I'm not—freaking out," he manages. 

"It's okay if you are." Timmy shrugs.  _ "Everything's  _ okay. Okay?" 

"Okay," Armie mumbles. 

Timmy looks at him from under his eyelashes. "Just kissing, tonight. Kissing and dinner. Yeah?" 

Armie takes a breath. "Yes." 

"I mean, we haven't been paying attention, so there's a  _ high _ chance Livs has already eaten our burgers." 

"Shit." Armie laughs, and presses his lips to the soft place in front of Timmy's ear. It feels exactly as good as it looks. He tries the place at the corner of his jaw, too, and the dip at the base of his neck. 

"I'm going to check," murmurs Timmy, flexing his fingers in Armie's hair. 

"Mmkay," Armie responds, nuzzling his lips slowly up Timmy's neck. 

"No, I really am." 

"Mm-hmm." 

"One more kiss. Before I go." 

Armie grins, and pecks Timmy softly on the lips.

"Oh, come on." 

"Hmm?" 

"One more  _ proper  _ kiss." 

"Will that make you more or  _ less _ likely to go check if Livs has eaten our dinner?" 

"More. Definitely  _ much _ more." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yep." Timmy brushes his lips at the corner of Armie's mouth. "So." 

"Well. I believe you." Armie presses his lips to Timmy's slowly, increasing the pressure only little by little. 

Timmy bites at Armie's bottom lip. "Torturer." 

Armie smiles and kisses him harder, licking a slow, teasing path across Timmy's upper lip—then pulls away. "So. Dinner," he says, innocently. 

Timmy groans, and bites into Armie's cheek. "Asshole." He levers himself off the sofa, then giggles. "She's just sitting next to the counter directly under the food, inhaling  _ really _ hard. Look." 

Armie laughs, sitting up. 

Timmy grins and steps back to him; plays with his hair. 

"Were you tidying that, or messing it up further?" 

"That's  _ my _ business." 

"Go stop your puppy huffing our dinner." 

Timmy runs both hands through Armie's hair again, and goes to get their food. "Eat like animals from the bag?" 

"Yup.  _ Parks and Rec?"  _

"Yesssss. No, Livs—you already  _ had _ your dinner with Saoirse. Sorry, baby. Yes, I'm sorry. C'mon—down, baby—" 

_ Baby.  _ Armie can't stop himself focusing on the word, as he opens Netflix and chooses  _ Parks and Recreation  _ from Timmy's 'Continue Watching' section. 

"Fuck knows where I am," says Timmy, collapsing next to Armie on the sofa. "We can put it back to where we were." 

Armie half-shrugs and presses play, reaching to take his burger as Timmy holds it out to him.  _ Fuck, I mean I probably won't be able to concentrate on a single frame of it.  _

"Wait—are these both the same?" 

"Yep." 

"Did you get one set of sweet potato fries?" 

"Yes." 

"Are they yours?" 

Armie shrugs again. "I didn't know what you preferred. I'm good with whatever." 

"Can I have a mix?" 

"Yes." 

"Can I kiss you?" 

_ "Now _ you ask?" 

Timmy snorts a giggle.  _ "Can _ I?" 

"Yes." 

They're both grinning as they kiss, leisurely spinning into needy. It's brought to an abrupt end when Livvy barges her head onto Timmy's lap, aiming for the bag of fries.

Timmy tells her a firm  _ no,  _ and makes her settle in a very fretful 'down' before he starts to eat. 

The burgers are stuffed full and messy-delicious, even if a little less than hot. Armie finishes his way too fast—realizing suddenly how hungry he was—and goes to wash his hands. 

At the sink, Timmy's arms wrap around Armie's waist, hands held away from his white shirt because of the grease. "Washing up again?" 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Only my hands. Surely that's allowed?" 

"I'll think about it." Timmy moves to the side to wash his too, and Armie stares at the soft skin of his nape, beneath the curls. 

Quickly, daring, he bends and kisses it. 

Timmy hums assent and drops his head forward, exposing more neck to Armie's lips. 

_ Oh, fuck. You're addictive.  _ Armie puts his hand between Timmy's shoulderblades; lets his thumb graze just above the collar of Timmy's t-shirt. Pulls the fabric down just a quarter of an inch, and kisses the skin he exposes. 

Timmy turns to him, flushed, eyes heavy-lidded. Kisses the base of Armie's neck; the dip there, the wings of his collarbones, a lazy trail to his jaw, to the corner of his mouth—

Armie pulls him in, wanting to hug him, wanting the warmth and vitality of Timmy against him again—

Livvy plants her front paws against their legs, and neither of them can help laughing. 

"What time do you have to pick up Archie?" 

Guiltily, Armie checks his watch.  _ "Shit. _ Soon." 

Timmy bites his lip. "How soon?" 

"Like, 'I should already be driving' soon." 

Timmy sighs, leaning his whole weight against Armie's body. "Will you do a sleep spell before you leave?" 

Armie smiles. "Sure."  _ Dear universe. Dear everything. Dear whatever there is out there. Please let Timmy sleep well.  _

"Will you actually?" 

"Just did." 

"Is there time to kiss me again?" 

_ "Yes."  _

Timmy's smiling when Armie kisses him. 

"What about once more?" 

"Yep." 

"And again?" 

"Maybe I should take this in stages. Put my jacket on. My shoes." 

"Kiss, jacket, kiss, shoes. Kiss." 

"That's how it goes?" 

"That's how it goes." Timmy strokes his hands through Armie's hair again.

"So, kiss—" Armie tears himself away and goes to put his jacket on, followed by a curious Livvy. "Jacket—" 

"Kiss," says Timmy forcefully, swooping in to claim it. 

"Shoes—" 

"—kiss—"

"Pretty sure you have to let me put the shoes  _ on—" _

"Are you?" 

They smile into another kiss, and Armie manages to pull his shoes on without looking. 

"And—kiss," says Timmy, reaching up to lay his palm against Armie's neck. 

Armie slips his arms around Timmy's waist and draws him close. Feels that they're both still hard His heart races at the knowledge. 

They lose themselves in it, communicating only in lips and tongue and nibbled bites, in the catch and gasp of breath. 

"I have to go," groans Armie, at last. 

Timmy nods, pressing his open lips to Armie's jaw. "Argh." 

Armie grins.  _ Oh fuck. It feels good to be wanted by you.  _ "So. I'm going away. Now." With utmost reluctance, he releases his grip on Timmy's waist and takes a step away. 

At the door, Livvy tries to follow him, licking at his hand; Armie crouches down to pet her silky ears. 

_ I don't want to go.  _

He steals one more kiss before he does. 

*

Armie:  **Goodnight Timothée.**

Timmy:  **got Archie? 😍**

Armie:  **Send dogs?**

Timmy:  **dogs plz** ☺️ 

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **He's asleep**

Timmy:  **i mean i also meant send you's too**

Armie: ** [image]**

Armie:  **Hope I'll be asleep soon too **

Timmy:  **you chose not to sort out the mess i made of your hair then**

Armie:  **Chose might be putting it strongly. My dogsitter gave me a very knowing look when I picked Archie up late**

Timmy: ☺️☺️  **scandalous, armie doug hammer**

Armie:  **No-one in the world but you likes Doug**

Timmy:  **i do like doug. nice guy. good kisser**

Armie: 🙄  **Compliments…**

Timmy:  **not you tho. some doug guy**

Armie:  **Go to sleep, Chalamet** ☺️

Timmy: ❤️✌️❤️

Armie turns on his side and hugs his knees, unable to keep from grinning in the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: Armie hasn't escaped unscathed from a childhood with homophobic parents. I promise that his feelings about it are, and will remain, relatively lightly dealt with, but if this is a major trigger for you I would proceed with caution. I've tagged accordingly. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your beautiful comments 💕

Armie wakes because Archie's licking his neck, heading towards his ear. 

Armie yelps a groan, rolling away. "Ugh, Arch—I love you, but you're  _ disgusting—" _

He groans his way into his sweatpants and t-shirt, and grumbles as he leads Archie downstairs. He winces grimly through bagging up the poop, and watches Archie have his breakfast with heavy, tired eyes. 

He only sighs in relief when he crawls back under the covers. "More sleep, Archie. More sleep." 

The little puppy seems unconvinced, rough-and-tumbling with his blanket, attempting to chew the duvet, then the corner of the pillow, then Armie's hair—

Armie sighs, and flops onto his back. He groans, rubs his eyes, and reaches for his phone. 

Timmy had texted at about three in the morning. 

Timmy:  **just realized I stole your pen**

Armie: 😂  **Yup. Watched you do it**

Timmy:  **then you don't mind kissing a thief?**

Armie:  **Looks like I don't **

Armie:  **Archie won't let me go back to sleep. My last lie-in before the weekend and he's a fucking Energizer bunny **

Armie:  **Why were you awake at three AND AGAIN NOW. No good Chalamet**

Timmy:  **don't yell at me. your shitty sleep spell didn't work **

Armie:  **My sleep spell was fine**

Timmy:  **clearly not. maybe you have to be here for it to work??**

Armie's heart lurches. 

_ He didn't push me last night.  _

Armie:  **You fell asleep on my sofa too.**

Timmy:  **well either way i think it relies on proximity**

Armie bites his lip, thinking how to reply. 

Timmy:  **that's not some line to get you into bed i swear **

Timmy:  **i mean i'd love you in my bed but i meant it when i said everything's ok**

Timmy:  **ok?**

Armie stares at the messages, heart racing. 

Armie:  **Okay**

Armie types, then pauses, unsure how to continue. 

**Sorry if it seems like I'm not**

_ What? An easy fuck? A quick rebound lay?  _

_ Because realistically, that's what this is. Rebound. Definitely for him, maybe for me.  _

_ And he's moving home in a few weeks.  _

Armie:  **Sorry if it seems like I'm not into it. I am. **

_ Into you.  _

Timmy:  **don't make me call you to yell at you **

Timmy:  **you don't owe me sex lmao **

Timmy:  **idiot **

Armie:  **You really know how to talk a guy into bed** 🙄 

Timmy: 😂  **how do you feel about morning selfies**

Timmy:  **because i would be strongly pro receiving a selfie from you right now. need to check on your hair situation **

Armie turns his phone camera and takes a selfie, wincing at his sleepy eyes and messed up hair. 

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Hair situation is bad**

Timmy:  **hair situation is adorable. (picturing you hating this compliment)**

Armie:  **How do ** ** _you _ ** **feel about morning selfies?**

Timmy:  **[image] **

It's Timmy cuddling Livvy, huddled on his side, duvet drawn up to his ear. His curls fall across his forehead and eyes, and his lips are red, full. 

A flash of arousal in Armie's belly because  _ that's how his lips looked last night after we kissed— _

Armie:  **Okay you're pro morning selfies because you're ridiculously cute even on no sleep**

Timmy: ☺️  **thanks**

Timmy:  **^^ how to take a compliment**

Armie: 🙄 

Timmy:  **what you doing today?**

Armie:  **Was planning a dog walk. Maybe gym if I crate Archie for a bit**

Timmy:  **i can look after him if you want**

Armie:  **It's okay! You don't have to**

Timmy:  **i know i don't have to. i'm offering **

Armie:  **You don't need to get me back for helping out in an emergency 🙂 **

Timmy:  **it's selfishness actually. you go to the gym + i get to keep seeing your shoulders look Like That **

Armie laughs, his stomach flipping with nerves and happiness. 

Armie:  **Actually shoulders day was yesterday. **

Timmy:  **mmmf. what's today? **

Armie:  **No training session booked, so it would just be cardio and general weights, not a particular area **

Armie:  **And you've never seen my shoulders**

Timmy:  **felt them**

Timmy:  **and that's easily fixed**

_ Fuck. When was the last time someone flirted with me like this?  _

Armie:  **Yeah? **

Timmy:  **i'll just spill something on your shirt + make you take it off **

Timmy:  **i'm very clumsy so it's plausible **

Armie:  **Would've been plausible, if you hadn't just told me about it**

Timmy:  **idk it's only fair to warn you, so you can wear a shirt you don't like**

Armie huffs a laugh. 

_ He's ridiculous. Fuck, I miss him.  _

Timmy:  **or we can always skip the stage where i throw ketchup on you + go straight to you taking your shirt off **

Timmy:  **it's an option **

Armie:  **Oh thanks. Glad there are options **

Armie:  **Do I need to spill something on you? Or… **

Timmy:  **well you saw me without my shirt onstage so if that didn't put you off then** 😂 

Timmy:  **as you can tell i don't do the gym but you kissed me after, so** 😂 

Armie:  **Don't...you know you made me literally speechless **

Timmy:  **i thought you hated it when you didn't text me back in the interval!**

Armie:  **I had no idea what to say**

Armie:  **You're too good. There's no adequate response**

Timmy:  **my fragile actor ego is purring like a cat**

Armie wants to make him purr in other ways too. 

_ As if I have any idea how.  _

Armie:  **Please tell me you know what a good actor you are **

Timmy:  **sometimes i think i'm good. intermittently. for a while **

Armie: ** Might come see the show again so I can give better feedback**

Timmy: 😂  **too cute **

Armie frowns and grins, feeling himself blush. 

Timmy:  **i'll get you a comp ticket this time so let me know when you want to come again**

Armie:  **I honestly don't mind paying to support the show/theater **

Timmy:  **you can't pay to see it twice! you need to learn to take things when they're offered… **

Timmy:  **so do i get to look after Archie today while you work out?** ☺️ 

Timmy:  **(and do i get a kiss for it?)**

Armie:  **Pretty sure you'd get a kiss even if you didn't. **

Timmy:  **oh good! two kisses then**

Armie:  **You know, for all I'm the one who works with money, I think you might be better than me at maximizing returns**

Timmy:  **doubled my profit easily. i'll see if i can do it again in person **

Timmy:  **what time did you want to drop Archie off?**

Armie:  **Why don't you bring Livs to the dog park first? We could wear them both out then they might take a nap **

Timmy:  **sure ☺️ usual one? what time? **

Armie checks his watch, and stops Archie from chewing the pillow again. 

Armie:  **9:30? My turn to bring the coffee. Iced latte?**

Timmy:  **yes please. can i have hazelnut?**

Armie smiles.  _ Why is that cute?  _

_ Get a fucking grip, Hammer.  _

He takes Archie outside again, then has breakfast himself and changes into jeans and a t-shirt. Swaps out the kit in his gym bag and puts it by the front door. 

Armie:  **Are you bringing the long leash?**

Timmy:  **yeah hopefully it'll be quiet enough to sit + drink coffee while they roam**

Armie:  **See you soon**

Timmy: ✌️❤️ 

*

In the parking lot, Timmy's just helping Livvy to jump out of the car. He's wearing black jeans and a short-sleeved blue and brown sweater. Armie feels a swoop of almost  _ dizziness, _ seeing him again.

There aren't many other cars parked up, and Armie hopes the puppies will get a better run this time. 

_ How can he still need a sweater? It's spring.  _

_ Is he going to want to kiss me? In public?  _

Armie takes a breath before he steps out of the car.

Timmy grins at him. He's having to hold Livvy back with all his strength. "I'll give you both a minute before I let Livs jump all over you." 

Armie smiles and reaches into the back of the SUV to clip on Archie's leash and help him jump out. The whole operation isn't helped at all by the fact that Archie's going crazy as he sees Livvy in the distance, leaping and trying to lick Armie's face with a sort of frantic general affection. 

"Jesus Christ," mutters Armie as Archie hurls himself towards Livvy. "Wait, Archie— _ wait _ —I need to get the coffee…"

Timmy snorts a laugh. "Give me your keys. I'll grab the coffees, you control these two." 

Armie tries to ignore the buzz of excitement he gets at Timmy's tacit acknowledgement that he should hold the puppies because he's stronger, and the warm bubble of happiness in his chest that handing his car keys to Timmy gives. 

_ I want to drive him. Drive him somewhere special. Out on a date together, without the puppies.  _

_ Is that weird?  _

Timmy gets the coffees from the car, and locks the SUV again; pockets Armie's key when he sees there's no way to hand it back to Armie right now. "Let's go get them on the long leashes," he says. "Seems like there are few enough people here, maybe." 

Armie nods, and they make their way into the park; the puppies are tussling and jumping at one another, and by the time they get to the bench, Armie's happy to relinquish control of Livvy to Timmy again. 

"Shit, she really  _ is _ heavier than Archie." 

Timmy laughs, patting Livvy's side as he swaps out her leash. "Yup. Big  _ lump." _

Armie makes Archie sit and wait, even when he's on the long leash; then gives him a piece of kibble and allows him to rampage away with Livvy. 

They both sigh, and sit down on the bench; there's an awkward little moment of silence, and then they huff a laugh, watching the puppies race after one another. 

"Hazelnut iced latte," says Armie, passing it to Timmy. His heart jumps as their fingers meet on the cup. 

They touch coffees, smile, and look away. Take sips of their drinks. 

_ Does he mind that I didn't kiss him?  _

_ Should I kiss him? Out here?  _ His heart races at the thought. 

_ Fuck. Am I actually homophobic?  _

"They've  _ fully _ tangled up their leashes already." Timmy's voice is full of amusement. 

Armie looks properly at the puppies. "Oh shit," he laughs. "They're ridiculous." 

"At some point they'll just be tied together." 

Armie's so aware of everything about Timmy; the sound of his voice, the way his hair falls so that one curl touches his cheekbone, the nape of his neck visible above the collar of his sweater— _ I kissed him there, yesterday, on his neck, and he dropped his head forward, wanted me to do it again— _

Timmy's knee nudges Armie's. "Hey. You good?" His voice contains the same fond amusement it had before, the last time Armie had been daydreaming and not answering a question. 

Armie turns to face him. His throat is dry, tight. He doesn't know how to answer. 

He finds just enough courage. Leans forward and presses his lips softly to Timmy's. Pulls back again quickly, because  _ maybe he didn't actually want me to—it's not like we're together— _

Timmy's eyes crinkle at the edges. His grin is lopsided, and genuine. "Armie—" 

"Sorry." 

"Shut up." Timmy puts his hand on Armie's thigh; rubs his thumb across the material of his jeans. "Kiss me if you  _ want  _ to, okay? I guess it could feel like—a lot, at first. I'm not expecting anything." He withdraws his hand, and fiddles with the lid of his coffee. 

Armie half-frowns. _ He's not expecting anything? Because we're not together and it doesn't bother him? Or because he can tell I'm scared by all this?  _ "Thanks," he mumbles. 

_ Of course I want to kiss you. I just keep imagining that everyone else in this park thinks like my mom.  _

_ Guess it's not particularly flattering having a—a kissing partner who's afraid to even show—  _

"You going straight to the gym after this?" asks Timmy. 

"I—well, I figured I should come drop Archie off at yours first—" 

Timmy smiles, scrunching his nose a little. "It's all good. If you lend me Archie's dog seatbelt from your car I can take them home and you can get a head start." 

"You really want to drive both of them on your own?" 

Timmy grimaces a laugh. "It'll be fine. Probably." 

"'Probably'," Armie says, giving him side-eye. "I don't like that 'probably'." 

Timmy rolls his eyes. "It will  _ totally _ be fine. They'll be so tired after this, I'm guessing they'll just flop down in the back seat." He takes a sip of coffee through the straw. "Mine, for lunch?" 

Armie blinks. "I can bring something, if—" 

Timmy shakes his head. "I still have a bunch of salad ingredients. Your salad obsession is safe at my place." 

Armie can't help smiling. "Thanks. Realized I need a haircut after year-end, too. As well as salad and exercise." 

Timmy looks at him appraisingly. "Yeah? How much shorter do you normally have it?" 

Armie shrugs. "Just kind of—shorter? Not too short?" Timmy gives him a look, and Armie laughs; shrugs. "Sorry." 

"You'd look hot with a buzzcut," says Timmy, with a grin. "Not that you _need_ it to look hot." 

Armie's stomach flips.  _ I loved the way your hands felt in my hair.  _ He looks around. The puppies are play-fighting not far away; there's one jogger in the far distance, but the park is otherwise quiet. Tentatively, Armie reaches out and takes Timmy's hand. 

Timmy lets him interlace their fingers, smiles, and takes a sip of coffee; doesn't make a big deal of it. 

Armie wants to kiss him again.  _ Properly. Better.  _

And then the puppies are barreling back towards them; they call them over, give them water and treats. 

When they let the puppies run away, Armie takes Timmy's hand again. 

_ This must seem so fucking adolescent to him.  _ He can feel frustration at his own reticence building as heat in his chest, prickling behind his eyes. 

"I can't believe you need a sweater at this time of year," Armie murmurs, for something to say. 

"It's short-sleeved.  _ And  _ I knew you were bringing me iced coffee." 

Armie looks at Timmy obliquely, out of the corner of his eye. "Are you  _ always  _ cold?" 

"Nearly always," Timmy shrugs. "I guess maybe not in like,  _ high  _ summer? But. Mostly." 

Armie brushes his thumb across Timmy's knuckles.  _ If I just get my head out of my ass I can warm you up.  _ "Guess we need to stop them soon," he says. 

Timmy checks the time on his phone, and nods. 

_ This is all wrong. He thinks I don't like him—or not enough, anyway, he can tell I'm not comfortable— _

"Thanks for doing this. Today," Armie says, tentatively. 

Timmy turns; smiles at him. "You don't need to thank me. Like I said, it's totally selfish." He lets his gaze flick quickly down to take in the whole of Armie's body. 

Armie can  _ feel  _ himself blush. All of this is new; if anything he's usually been the person who flirts first, the one who makes his desire known. 

"C'mon." Timmy squeezes Armie's hand, and releases it. "Let's try and get them back." 

They call the puppies; but it's Armie shaking the tupperware of kibble he brought that finally tips the balance. Then there are two tired, panting puppies throwing themselves at them, and Archie's clearly jealous of Livvy's chicken so he gets some of that instead of kibble. 

Before long they're back at the cars and strapping both the puppies into the back seat of Timmy's; the puppies don't make it easy, overexcited and overtired, tongues lolling as they try to lick everyone and everything in reach. 

"Jesus. I hope the drive  _ isn't  _ too bad," laughs Armie, closing the door on his side. 

Timmy closes his door too, and grins. "We'll be  _ fine."  _

"'Probably'." 

"Let me know when you're setting off from the gym? I can start getting lunch ready." 

"You don't have to make lunch—" 

Timmy shakes his head fondly, coming around the car to stand at the driver's door. "You're ridiculous. I'm  _ offering.  _ Not saying I  _ have _ to do anything." He digs in his pocket and holds out Armie's car key. "You'll need this." 

There's no-one else around. Armie takes the key. His hand is warm as he clutches it, ready to get in and drive away. Timmy's curls are mussed from settling the puppies in the car, and his eyes are hazel, soft, sleepy—

Armie steps in closer, and the car key  _ hurts  _ in his clenched fist, now, and his heart is racing with fear, adrenaline a shot of liquid heat down his spine—

He presses his lips to Timmy's again, and waits, because  _ he still might not want this,  _ but Timmy's breath is a soft willing sigh and Armie feels a hand on his chest, over his heart, and hopes nonsensically that Timmy can't feel how fast it's beating. 

The kiss is slow, and sweet, barely more than a few presses of lips; and when they pull back, Timmy's wearing a tiny crooked smile that Armie wants immediately to kiss again. 

_ Nothing happened.  _

_ Maybe no-one even saw.  _

_ But if they did see—nothing happened. _

Timmy bites his bottom lip; skims his fingers quickly along Armie's collarbone. "Go. Gym it up." 

Slowly, Armie takes a step back; nods. "See you in a bit." He doesn't want to look away. 

Timmy drops his gaze; looks up again through his eyelashes, then grins and turns. Gets in his car. Waves, and says something to the puppies before he pulls away. 

When Armie opens his fist for the car key, there's a red imprint pressed deep into his palm. 

*

He takes a thorough shower after his workout, then changes back into his jeans and t-shirt. Tries to sort out his hair with a little more care than he usually would after the gym. 

By chance he sees his trainer on the way out. Stopping to say hi, he forgets to text Timmy until he's in the car. 

Armie:  **Just leaving**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **these two have actually been pretty good. except when archie got in my bed**

Armie:  **Uh tell Archie to step off**

It's only a joke, but Armie blushes once he's sent it. 

Timmy:  **jealous?**

Armie:  **Immediately** 🤦 

Timmy:  **stop texting and come here. there's salad**

Armie:  **I'm not really coming for the salad **

Timmy:  **well yeah. it's not that good **

Armie bites his lip and shakes his head, grinning. 

*

"D'you think he missed you?" laughs Timmy, as Archie throws himself on Armie. 

"Argh—Archie—chill the fuck out—" Armie has to close his eyes and screw up his face, trying to evade Archie's attempts to lick him. "Insane—child—" eventually he stands up, just to get away from the onslaught. 

"Good workout?" asks Timmy. 

_ He looks so good. So fucking good.  _

"Fine. Never as good on my own as with my trainer, but." Armie shrugs. His heart beats harder at the slight hesitation, the pause of quiet between them. 

Then he can't wait any longer: he steps closer to Timmy and tucks that rebellious curl behind his ear. Runs his thumb along his jawline. Nudges his chin up and hesitates, waiting for assent in Timmy's eyes—

Timmy smiles, and closes the gap between them. His lips are soft, and they open immediately at Armie's touch. 

Armie sighs into the kiss, pulling Timmy closer, a hand in the small of his back. 

_ I'm sorry I didn't kiss you like this in the park.  _

"You know, lunch is ready," murmurs Timmy, between kisses. 

"How offended would you be if we just ignored lunch for—a—while—" Armie says, kissing along Timmy's jaw. 

"Depends. Why would we be doing that?"

Armie kisses Timmy's earlobe, sliding his arm around his waist. "To do this?" 

"Acceptable." 

Armie grins, and tows Timmy to the sofa. Sits down, pulling him down too. Timmy arranges himself across Armie's lap.

Armie nuzzles just below Timmy's jaw. "You must need to nap. You barely slept." 

Timmy gives him a look. "You expect me to sleep  _ now?"  _

Armie kisses him on the lips again, gently. "You need to take care of yourself." 

"Sometimes self-care is making out with a beautiful man instead of sleeping." 

Armie snorts a laugh. "Stick that over a picture of a sunset and put it on Instagram." 

_ Beautiful man.  _

He tries to think if he's ever been called beautiful before.  _ Handsome, definitely. Hot, sure. But beautiful? _

Timmy grins. "Instant Instagram like-trap." He brushes his lips against Armie's cheek. "You shouldn't worry about my sleep. I'm used to it." 

"Yeah, but that's  _ worse.  _ Timothée Hal Chalamet…"

"Oh Jesus. It's like my mom's telling me off." 

"Well that's why you told me your middle name in the first place. So don't complain when I use it. You keep using  _ Doug." _

Timmy sighs. "Doug's nice." 

"Douglas, Doug—either way it's awful. I sound like a Scottish fisherman." 

"What's wrong with Scottish fishermen?" 

"You're ridiculous." Armie kisses Timmy again, arm slipping around his waist, pulling him against his chest. "Come  _ here."  _

"I'm  _ right  _ here." 

Armie smiles. "Well.  _ More _ here, please." 

"Shh." Timmy kisses him, hard and open-mouthed, and Armie finds himself breathless as they mould to one another, shifting further into each other's space. 

He discovers that he can make Timmy into a mess by biting his bottom lip, and that he melts with kisses to his neck. Armie follows freckles, exploring every one that he's stared at, longed to kiss, with lips and tongue and—eventually, when he figures out that it makes Timmy gasp and groan—teeth. 

After a while, he traces a finger over Timmy's chin and jaw; down his throat. "I should've shaved again. I did last night, before your show, but not this morning, and now—" he tries to keep out of his voice the pleasure and wonder he feels at having brought forth the bloom of redness on Timmy's pale skin. 

Timmy grins; shrugs. "I'll moisturize. What are the puppies doing?" 

Armie cranes his neck to check. "Oh. Chewing Livvy's blanket to bits?" 

Timmy sighs. "Right. She started on it this morning. Nice that she's got a collaborative project with her little friend." 

Armie laughs and presses his lips to the dip at the base of Timmy's neck. Only half of it is visible because of the neckline of the sweater, and Armie growls quietly, pulling it down with one finger. Kisses where he couldn't before. 

He remembers their text-flirting, and Timmy joking about spilling something on him to make him take his shirt off. 

_ I want to take your clothes off, but I don't know if I'm ready for anything else. I could barely kiss you in public.  _

_ What if I freak out and fuck everything up?  _

_ What if you think I don't want you?  _

_ I do.  _

Even though breakfast was hours ago, he doesn't feel hungry at all. He feels  _ high _ —focused entirely on Timmy, on his reactions, his noises, the way he moves, speaks, breathes. 

"Hey." Timmy presses his lips to the corner of Armie's mouth. "You know, I  _ could  _ nap. If you keep me warm." 

Armie's heart pounds.  _ I don't want to ruin everything— _

_ "Just _ napping and kissing," murmurs Timmy. "If you want to." 

_ Why is he so nice to me, when I'm like a deer in the headlights— _

"We'd better take the puppies out first," is all Armie manages to say. "You go get ready to sleep. I'll take them down." 

"You sure?" 

"'Course." He kisses Timmy's throat again, then groans as he pushes him away. 

Armie does the quickest possible trip downstairs with the puppies. When he returns, he lets them off the leash in the apartment and pushes off his shoes; pads into the kitchen where Timmy's getting a glass of water from the tap. 

He puts his hand gently in the small of Timmy's back, and watches his throat as he drinks. Gladly inherits the glass when Timmy's finished half. Tries to remember how to swallow while Timmy kisses his neck. 

"What are we going to do with the puppies?" asks Armie. "They'll chew the place to shit if we leave them out here together." Reluctantly, he adds, "I can just chill with them out here. You should sleep." 

Stubbornly, Timmy shakes his head. "I have a crate for Livs," he says. "In the corner of my room. I don't think we're really meant to put two of them in there together though. But we could put a bed next to her for Archie, and see if he'd stay?" 

Armie shrugs.  _ Yes, please.  _ "Definitely worth a try." He tucks Timmy's curl behind his ear again. 

Timmy grins. "Is that one annoying you?" 

"No."  _ I love it. _ "Am I annoying  _ you, _ doing that all the time?" 

Timmy rolls his eyes. "Of course not." He takes Armie's hand and pulls him towards the bedroom. "Livs—Archie—" 

It takes a while to get them settled; but with plenty of bribery, and a couple false starts—where Archie decides he'd rather be on the bed with Armie, as usual—they manage. 

They're giggling by the time they get under the duvet. They turn to face one another, close.

"How long is this going to last?" whispers Timmy. "Before we get a fluffy visitor again?" 

"No idea." Armie kisses the end of Timmy's nose, and Timmy scrunches it up. 

"Do you like my nose?" 

_ It's fucking adorable. Like the rest of you.  _

"It's an excellent nose." 

"You're weird." 

Armie shrugs. "Probably." 

"Weird-good." 

"Glad you think so." Armie smiles. "Go to sleep." 

Timmy grins. "Just like that?" 

"Yup." 

"Then you'll have to come up with a better sleep spell." 

Armie kisses him. Timmy's scent is all around him, in the duvet and the pillows and the sheet. He wants to stay here forever. 

Timmy shuffles closer; slips his foot between Armie's legs, for the warmth. Kisses back, sweetly, openly.

Armie wraps his arm around Timmy's waist. 

They're both half-hard, pressed together. Their breath catches a little as they kiss. The room has a soft golden glow to it, drapes pulled to shut out the afternoon light. It feels like a private cave, safe and quiet. 

"Is this good?" asks Timmy, after a while. "For you?" He sounds a little breathless. 

_ Is it bad for him? Is he getting impatient? I mean I would, maybe, if I was him, if I thought it was going nowhere— _

"I'm sorry, I—" 

There's a hand over his mouth, suddenly. 

_ "Armie.  _ What did you just hear, when I asked that?" 

"I just—I know this is—kind of high school, and I—" 

"I didn't mean that." Timmy's thumb strokes his cheek. "Got it? I didn't mean that." 

_ Maybe discuss with my therapist why I always look for the hidden message in everything, before the obvious one.  _ Armie already knows the answer lies with his childhood; with his parents, locked in their private, uncommunicative battle with one another and with God, speaking only in passive aggression. 

"Yes," he says, at last. "And I know you didn't mean—I'm just—grateful. I know not many guys would be this—patient." 

Timmy smiles. "We literally kissed yesterday. If I wanted a hookup, I'd use Grindr, okay?" 

Armie can feel his cheeks flush. "I just—you don't deserve to have to deal with my—I don't know—fears, or whatever—" 

Timmy shrugs. "Your background is shitty." 

"But that's a  _ thing, _ right? Not getting with guys who hate themselves, who have internalised homophobia or whatever—" Armie can't help speaking faster now. 

"Hey." Timmy puts his hand on Armie's chest; strokes the base of his neck. "It—can be. There's a very specific shitty type of guy who wants to pretend to the world that he's straight, who'll never acknowledge otherwise, but wants to fuck just the same. Sometimes it's deliberate, and sometimes it's as shitty for him as for everyone else. And yeah, there's kind of a  _ thing _ about not getting involved with those guys. Maybe I'm wrong, but I didn't—you're doing therapy, you've changed a bunch of stuff. I got the vibe that you're someone who's changing. Maybe not there yet, but not planning to hide who you are forever." 

Armie stares at him.  _ Why are you like this? I don't deserve this.  _ "I haven't told my family yet." 

"Oh, you haven't told your insanely Christian homophobic mom that you're queer yet? I mean. Give yourself a break, man." Timmy smiles. "You're pretty hard on yourself, right?" 

Armie manages to master his voice enough to make it sound sardonic. "You realize there's no guarantee this is a good investment?" 

Timmy giggles. "Please. Tell me more about my portfolio of investments or whatever." 

Armie rolls his eyes. "I've never been with a man," he says, as calmly as he can. 

"Yeah. I know." 

"So...I might be really bad in bed?" 

"Yup. Maybe. There's plenty of shit sex to be had on Grindr, too." 

Armie laughs, groans, and rubs his eyes. He feels oddly like crying. "You have a very Pollyanna attitude to life." 

"Not  _ sure  _ Pollyanna had any words of wisdom about gay hookup culture  _ specifically—" _

Armie snorts and pokes Timmy in the stomach.  _ "Fuck.  _ Shut up." He presses his lips to the warmth of Timmy's neck. 

"Make me," murmurs Timmy, into his ear. 

"You're meant to be going to sleep," whispers Armie, kissing along Timmy's jawline. 

_ "Make _ me," returns Timmy again, and this time there's a grin in his voice. 

When they kiss, Armie feels his ability to reason, to hold back, slipping away.  _ More, more, always more of him— _

"Argh," Armie groans, at last. "Turn over. Then I can't kiss you. You  _ have  _ to sleep before work." 

Timmy huffs a giggle, but obediently turns, letting Armie spoon him. "I've been to work on less sleep." 

"I mean, okay. That's  _ wrong _ though." 

"You and your sleep schedule."

"You and your total lack of one. Shh." Armie tucks his arm around Timmy's waist and chest, pulling him close. 

"Mmm." Timmy fusses with his pillow, getting it into exactly the right position under his head.

Armie brushes his lips across the pale, inviting expanse of Timmy's nape; then places a chain of kisses along the line of the sweater's collar. 

After a minute, Timmy wriggles back against him. "How'm I supposed to sleep—" 

"Sorry. Sorry." Armie can't help but grin. "Do you have an alarm set?" 

"Yeah," mumbles Timmy. He intertwines his fingers with Armie's, then slips their hands up under his sweater. Presses Armie's palm flat against the warm skin of his chest. 

For a second Armie can hardly breathe. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the back of Timmy's head. He doesn't know whether it's okay to move his hand; and he desperately wants to feel more of Timmy's skin. 

Softly, tentatively, he brushes his thumb back and forth. 

Timmy sighs softly—barely a breath—and the sound makes arousal crackle like electricity down Armie's spine. 

_ Fuck. Oh, fuck. We've hardly touched but— _

Armie moves his thumb again, heart beating so hard he can't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears. 

When Timmy squirms back against him, Armie can't help a softly-breathed groan. 

"Don't think turning around is helping," whispers Timmy, and his voice is full of laughter. 

"Pretty sure it's helping take years off my life." Armie kisses Timmy's nape again. "Should I go hang out in the other room?" 

"Nooo," complains Timmy. "Everyone just go to sleep and stop—this." 

"We haven't even  _ done  _ anything," mumbles Armie. He wants to apologize again. 

"And yet." Timmy sounds like he's smiling. He squeezes Armie's hand under his sweater. 

Armie sighs, places one more kiss between Timmy's shoulderblades, and settles his head down on the pillow. 

Silently, he tries to match his breathing to Timmy's. 

It takes a while; even with his eyes closed, his senses are focused only on Timmy. But slowly, peacefully, he feels himself slip into sleep. 

*

He wakes to the sound of Timmy's phone vibrating on the nightstand, and to a curious Archie leaping up onto the bed to investigate. 

Timmy groans and pulls the duvet up over his head. "Ten more minutes," he mumbles. 

Armie has to swiftly extract his hand from Timmy's sweater, so that he can push Archie away. "No—Arch—not the  _ face _ —argh," he groans, as Archie manages to get his tongue in his ear. He takes refuge under the duvet too.  _ "Not _ the person whose tongue I wanted in my ear today." 

Timmy giggles, and turns to face him. He looks quite awake suddenly, eyes wide and green. "Sorry I never put my tongue in your ear." 

Armie shrugs. "There's still time." 

Archie tramples across them. 

"Shit, he's probably going for your phone—" Armie pulls the duvet down and tackles the puppy into his arms. "I'm bringing your crate next time, boy." Archie licks his chin, and Armie sighs. 

Timmy grins; rolls onto his front. "You two want to be a bit cuter? Or…" 

Armie leans in and kisses him on the cheek. "We'd better fuck off. Let you get ready for work. You must need to take Livs to your friend's—how the hell did you pronounce her name—?" 

"Sir-sha." Timmy smiles at his expression. "It's spelled S-A-O-I-R-S-E. It's Irish." 

"Ah. That explains it then."

"Back at work tomorrow, right?" 

Armie groans, and sits up. "Yup." 

"We kind of don't have very complementary hours." 

"True." Armie reaches out and tucks Timmy's curl behind his ear. "We could do something Sunday? Before puppy class?" 

Timmy nods, eyes crinkling in a smile. "Sure." He sits up too, and climbs into Armie's lap, pressing his lips to the corner of Armie's mouth. Archie sniffs all around them, shoving his nose into both their armpits and ribs, and they can't keep from laughing. 

"Kind of killing the mood here, Archie," sighs Armie. 

As they climb out of bed, Armie glances over to the wall above Timmy's nightstand. The postcards are still there, but the picture is gone. 

_ "Did _ you sleep?" asks Armie, as Timmy starts collecting stuff into his backpack, and frees Livs from her crate. 

"Yup. It worked." 

Armie salutes. "Glad to be of service." He wants to wrap himself around Timmy and not let go. There's too much space between them. 

Slowly, Armie collects Archie's stuff, and pulls on his shoes. Makes Archie sit for his harness, and clips on his leash. 

"You never had your salad." Timmy's hand dances down Armie's back; settles in the small of it, steadying himself as he pushes on his sneakers. "Sorry for starving you." 

Armie smiles.  _ Everything about this was perfect.  _

_ Well, I mean, probably not perfect for you, I guess ideally I'd have been ready to have sex with you but— _

"You didn't starve me." He reaches out automatically to put his hand on Timmy's nape; then hesitates, and draws it back. 

Timmy gives him an amused little look and pushes into the touch. Turns inwards to rest against Armie's chest. "See you Sunday," he mumbles. "And I hope work's okay." 

"You too." Armie pulls him up, into a kiss. "Break a leg." 

"Mmm." Timmy takes another kiss, wrapping his arms around Armie's neck. "Text me if you get bored at work." 

_ I don't want to go.  _ Armie takes a reluctant step back, pulling Archie with him. "You too," he says again. He waves awkwardly at Timmy, and drags Archie—scrabbling to get back to Livvy—out of the apartment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters just...wanted to be written together. Sorry about the unusually long delay, but it was the only way it would write itself and [shrug]. Thank you so much for all your support and kindness x

When Armie's alarm goes in the morning, he jolts into wakefulness, then flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. 

_ Fuck. Work.  _

He pulls on the same jeans and t-shirt from yesterday, and puts a hand on Archie's back. "Come on you. Why're you so sluggish this morning? Should I be putting  _ my _ tongue in  _ your _ ear?" 

Archie eventually allows himself to be coaxed from the bed, and they make the trip downstairs and back. 

Armie makes coffee and eats a bowl of cereal while Archie has his breakfast, then shuts the puppy in his crate for a while so he can have a shower, shave, and put on his suit. It feels strange wearing such formal clothes after the past few days; he knots his tie loosely for now, and doesn't fasten his top button. 

Dropping Archie at the sitter's, Armie thanks her again for all the overtime she'd put in while he was slogging through year-end, then heads back through the traffic to his office. 

His boss is significantly less stressed than during year-end, and even remembers to ask how Armie's time off was. 

Sitting down at his desk feels horribly familiar and routine, entirely different from the strange dreamlike quality of the past few days. 

It almost doesn't feel  _ real _ that he's kissed Timmy, been in bed with Timmy. 

_ Maybe I made him up entirely. Something good. Something perfect.  _ Armie wants to text him, wants to check he's really real. 

Doesn't want to be annoying. Clingy. 

_ This definitely isn't anything serious for him. He's kind, and thoughtful, and patient. But until yesterday he had a picture of his ex pinned next to his bed.  _

Sighing, he starts to tackle everything that had to take a back seat in the madness of year-end. He works steadily through the morning, and if his eyes slide far too often to his phone—if he checks every notification that comes in far too quickly—he tries not to think about it too much. 

By one o'clock he's starving, and takes a walk out to grab a quick lunch to eat at his desk. 

_ Salad,  _ he thinks,  _ of course.  _ He imagines Timmy grinning at him, teasing him gently about it being the only thing he eats. 

There's an adorable black Labrador—older, with a slightly grizzled muzzle—outside the café where he buys his salad. He snaps a quick picture and is halfway through sharing it in his conversation with Timmy when he hesitates. 

_ Am I being too much?  _

_ He probably won't mind a dog picture though.  _

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Saw this old guy while I was buying lunch and thought of Livs** 🙂

_ Thought of you.  _

Timmy:  **you taking creeper pics of dogs???? **

Timmy:  **omg look at himmmmmmm 😍 **

Timmy:  **let me guess...did you buy uhhhh…salad??? **

Armie can't help grinning.  _ He wants to talk.  _

Armie:  **How did you guess? **

Timmy:  **because you're insane + don't realise you're already way too hot to need to eat salad for every meal **

Armie can feel himself blushing. He's in a tide of people walking back into his office building, mostly returning from buying lunch or taking a break. No-one is looking at him; no-one knows that he, Armie Hammer, is being flirted with by a ridiculously beautiful, smart, kind boy with soft dark curls and hazel eyes and a constellation of freckles on his neck— 

He doesn't know how to reply. 

Timmy:  **you're struggling with how to reply to a compliment aren't you **

Armie:  **You're ridiculous. **

Timmy: ☺️  **how's work? **

Armie:  **Ugh. Not as busy. Still dull. **

Timmy:  **quit! quit today! quit now! **

Armie:  **Stop enabling my mid-life crisis **

Timmy:  **stop saying you're going to die at 60 **

Armie:  **I might, after yesterday **

He's in the elevator with a bunch of other people, and he knows he's probably blushing. He doesn't look up, doesn't make eye contact with anyone. 

Timmy:  **sunday seems a long way away**

_ Way, way too long. But he's just flirting.  _

Armie:  **Two shows on Saturday, right?**

Timmy:  **yeah. saturdays are a lot**

Armie:  **You can always nap on Sunday** 🙂

Timmy:  **with you around, it's almost guaranteed**

Armie:  **ouch. am i that dull?**

Timmy:  **100% that wizard **

Armie snorts, sitting down at his desk and opening his salad. 

Timmy:  **tell me something sexy please. can't stop thinking about yesterday **

Armie's eyes flick up to his closed office door. 

_ Fuck. How can he get me so bothered and confused with so little?  _

He hesitates, unsure what to send. 

Armie:  **This probably sounds childish but I really want to kiss your stomach. I couldn't see if you had freckles there, at the show. Too far away. I want to find out **

Timmy:  **1\. stop saying stuff is childish or high school. i'm not trying to hurry you towards sex, ok? **

Timmy:  **2\. you're very welcome to kiss my belly. spoiler alert: yes there are freckles. will you bite them like the ones on my neck? **

Armie:  **I'll do anything you like **

Timmy:  **well i loved that **

Armie:  **This conversation isn't going to help me concentrate this afternoon **

Timmy:  **☺️ who needs concentration when you're going to quit your job **

Armie:  **Oh my god **

Timmy: 😂✌️❤️ 

*

After work Armie hits the gym, then goes to pick up Archie. His mind returns to Timmy again and again. 

Even as he walks Archie around the neighborhood at home, he can’t stop thinking about Timmy. He’s listening to the audiobook of  _ Midnight’s Children _ —picking up where he’d left off reading the physical copy—but he has to keep skipping back to the same section because he can’t concentrate. 

Timmy: 🤢  **it’s that time again **

Armie grins.  _ He texted.  _ He sets off towards home, pausing the audiobook entirely because he knows he’s not hearing a word.

Armie:  **Sorry I’m not there, but I guess that would make it worse…? **

Timmy:  **when ** ** _do _ ** **you want to see it again? **

Armie bites his lip, and asks the question he really wants to ask.

Armie:  **How much longer is it running? **

Timmy:  **3 more weeks. well nearly. then i have almost 2 weeks to pack up my shit before the lease ends + i get my flight back home **

_ Back home. He must be looking forward to getting back to his family, his city.  _ Once again, Armie marvels at the idea of being excited to be close to your family. 

_ Five weeks with him. Almost five weeks.  _ His chest feels tight. 

_ If he wants me around that long. _

Armie:  **Maybe I’ll come see it again tomorrow 😂**

He stares grimly at the emoji he’s used. It couldn’t be more inappropriate. 

Timmy:  **you serious? 😍 i’ll get you a comp if you do want to **

Armie’s heart races.  _ Am I coming off weird right now? Stalkerish?  _

_ Fuck. I want to see him again so much.  _

Armie:  **As long as that’s not weird? **

Timmy:  **don’t be ridiculous. i’ll get you a ticket tonight when the show’s over. will i see you after? **

Armie’s not sure what the right answer to that is.  _ Does he want to?  _ He wants to invite Timmy out for dinner or drinks, just them.  _ Would his friend be able to look after Livs for longer afterwards?  _

As he’s hesitating, Timmy sends another message. 

Timmy:  **no pressure, just wondered**

Armie’s heart lurches.  _ Fuck. He thinks I don’t want to.  _ He checks the time. He doesn’t want Timmy to go on stage thinking he’s not interested in seeing him.

Quickly, impulsively, he sends another text.

Armie:  **What time can your friend look after Livs till? We could get a drink together after the show if you like?**

It’s twenty-six minutes past, and Armie knows it’s entirely possible that Timmy’s not still checking his phone; but then the message shows as seen, and there’s a hasty response. 

Timmy:  **yes** 😘

Armie’s stomach flips with it. 

Armie:  **Break a leg** 😘

He takes the stairs back up to his apartment two at a time, Archie scrambling to keep up.

Making dinner for himself while Archie eats a bowlful of kibble, Armie finds he can concentrate on his audiobook again. He checks with his dogsitter that Archie can stay with her until late the next evening. 

Timmy:  **intermission. saoirse says i can have until 1am tomorrow **

Armie:  **I need to pick Archie up by midnight. Want me to do the driving, so you can actually drink? **

Timmy:  **it's a shame if you can't tho 🙁 come back to mine after + we'll put a dent in my vodka stash?? **

Armie smiles, heart beating hard.  _ That's an invitation to stay over, right? I mean—I'll have to if we drink, I can't take Archie home in an Uber— _

Armie:  **Vodka guy, huh? **

Timmy:  **just another way to drink oj** 😂  **not your poison?**

Armie:  **Usually a beer or whisky man. I can bring some with me **

Timmy:  **whatever you prefer 😘 **

Timmy:  **going back on **

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **One of Archie for when you're done**

He eats slowly at the counter, dividing his attention between his book and Archie. The puppy keeps dropping a ball at his feet, so Armie absentmindedly kicks it for him. 

After a while he can feel his attention slipping; he washes his dinner dishes and puts a German mystery show he's got addicted to on Netflix. Archie's up on the sofa with him in a second, lying next to him and attempting first to chew Armie's watch, then his belt, then sitting up to lick his face— 

"You know, bud, you're really not a restful companion," sighs Armie, rubbing Archie's ears. He shoves a chewy plastic bone into Archie's mouth. "Try that." 

By ten minutes into the episode, Archie's snoring, and Armie can't resist taking a short video. 

Armie:  **[video]**

Armie:  **Archie enjoys watching TV with me about as much as you do**

He loses himself in the episode, stroking Archie's ears and back as he watches. 

Timmy:  **is that german in the background?! + don't be an asshole**

Armie:  **Dark...I got addicted. Telling the truth, actually...you all fall asleep around me** 🙁 

Timmy:  **you keep telling me to fall asleep!**

Armie:  **How was the show?**

Timmy:  **good. just going to get your ticket for tomorrow** ☺️ 

Armie strokes along Archie's back, feeling bad about not buying the ticket. 

_ Accept the free thing, Armie. Like he keeps telling you.  _

Armie:  **Thank you.**

The words look stiff and unpractised when he's sent them, hovering in the chat. 

Timmy: ☺️☺️  **perfect. you're welcome. they're holding your ticket at the box office**

Armie hesitates.  _ Should I say thank you again?  _

Timmy:  **I CAN FEEL HOW UNCOMFORTABLE YOU ARE YOU RIDICULOUS HOT IDIOT **

Timmy:  **sorry that hot slipped in there by accident** 😂 

Armie can't help laughing. Next to him, Archie stretches and snorts, turning over to snooze in a new position. 

Armie:  **How do you make me blush? I'm nearly 30**

Timmy:  **just guessing here but probably my deeply unsubtle expression of interest in you???** 😂

Timmy:  **just getting in the car to go get Livvy**

Armie:  **Give her an ear-scratch from me **

He yawns, and turns off the TV; starts to get ready to go to bed. Archie stirs and snorts, following him sleepily as Armie grabs his harness. 

They do a quick visit to the grass downstairs, then Armie brushes his teeth while trying to stop Archie from drinking out of the toilet. 

He's achy from the gym, and tired after a day of work. When he climbs into bed, his feet and legs relax slowly, steadily. 

Timmy:  **daily update! livs started pooping normally again **

Armie:  **Good to know. I just had to stop Archie drinking from the toilet**

Timmy:  **glamour!!!!!**

Armie:  **Always**

Armie:  **So is there a bar you like near the theater? I don't know the area that well **

_ And I'm not taking you to any of the places I used to go with Liz and the rest of our friends.  _

Timmy:  **yeah there's the place the cast + crew go sometimes? they do a good burger **

Armie: 👍 

Timmy:  **let me guess. you're about to go to sleep **

Armie:  **Just climbed into bed. Let me guess, you're just getting ready to stay up all night **

Timmy:  **i swear i'm just having a snack then i'll try to get my beauty sleep** ✨  **i need it for tomorrow**

Armie:  **Oh, why's that? **

Timmy:  **hot guy coming over **

Armie:  **Huh. **

Timmy:  **jealous? i mean you should be. he's...something **

Armie bites his lip, grinning. 

Timmy:  **SORRY**

Timmy: ** i can practically hear you squirming with embarrassment from across the city**

Armie:  **It's okay. I'll thank you properly tomorrow. **

Timmy:  **is that a promise? **

Armie:  **Yes. Yes it is **

Timmy:  **is it sad i'm excited to go out + not be a puppy dad for like 1 hour tomorrow evening **

Armie:  **No I understand. New parenthood is brutal **

Timmy: 😂  **you should sleep. you have to work all day tomorrow **

Armie:  **Can't believe YOU just told ME to go to sleep **

Timmy:  **still texting? why this total disregard for a regular sleep schedule **

Armie:  **You're a cheeky little fucker aren't you **

Timmy:  **you didn't get that already? **

Armie:  **It's true. I'm slow. **

Timmy:  **text me tomorrow? **

Armie:  **Sure. You should be sleeping though **

Timmy:  **when? **

Armie:  **Almost all of the times I might possibly text you **

Timmy: 😂  **good thing i don't then huh **

Armie:  **No! **

Timmy:  **you're too sensible and hot **

Timmy:  **whoops **

Timmy:  **finger keeps slipping **

Armie huffs a laugh, turning on his side and curling his toes against the sheets. His thumb hovers over the screen, unsure how to reply. 

Timmy:  **tell me if this is actually you feeling awkward because you don't like me flirting instead of you feeling awkward because you don't like compliments **

Armie:  **I love you flirting. And I guess I like compliments as much as everyone else, I'm just shit at responding to them**

Timmy:  **maybe you'll get used to it ** ☺️ 

Armie:  **Kind of seems like I'll have to **

Timmy:  **now you're getting it **

Armie:  **You finished your snack yet? **

Timmy:  **yes + getting ready for bed. livs is on my bed + trying to chew my pillow while i brush my teeth **

Armie:  **Archie chews mine too. Everything I own is covered in dog in one way or another**

Timmy:  **same** 🙃  **sometimes i worry i'm one of those dog people that always smell of dog **

Armie laughs out loud, and Archie startles, giving him a confused look then curling more tightly into a ball. 

Armie:  **Fuck I literally worried that as I put my suit on this morning **

Timmy:  **suit, you say **

Timmy:  **hmm. interesting **

Timmy:  **this information is...yes. intriguing **

Armie grins, rolling his eyes. 

Armie:  **It's a business suit. I look like a boring businessman**

Timmy:  **HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY HOT BEFORE YOU GET IT **

Timmy:  **anyway go to sleep. i thought you were going to sleep instead of telling me things that just make everything worse **

Armie:  **Alright alright I'm going. Bossy **

Timmy:  **god i have to do another show knowing you're there **

Armie:  **You already know I think you're incredible **

Timmy:  **but what if I'm not...tomorrow??? **

Armie:  **You will be. And I'll tell you better afterwards this time **

Timmy:  **you told me perfectly last time **

Timmy:  **argh go to sleep. sorry **

Armie:  **Goodnight, Timothée Hal Chalamet **

Timmy:  **goodnight doug ✌️❤️ **

*

Everything is  _ easy  _ in the morning; Armie feels light, happy. Even the first half of his work day passes quickly, and he manages to restrain himself from checking his phone every ten seconds. 

As he walks to pick up his lunchtime salad, he finally allows himself to look. 

There's a message from Tyler. Guilt clutches at Armie's chest; tightens it. He reads the preview of the message without unlocking his phone. 

Tyler:  **hey Armie. I swear I don't want to talk about Liz. Just miss you man… **

The rest of the message is only viewable if Armie clicks into it. With a quick extra stab of guilt, he swipes it away. 

He misses Tyler more than most of them. But Tyler had been the person who introduced Armie and Liz to one another, back in the day, and Armie just hasn't been able to face the inevitable questions about why it all ended. 

Nick:  **Beers tonight?**

Armie:  **Out, sorry**

Nick:  **WHO IS SHE**

Armie grimaces. Normally he'd find it funny, but… 

_ She.  _

_ She's a he, Nick.  _

Timmy:  **[video]**

Timmy:  **livs decided to lick the whole floor of the shower when i was done this morning??**

Timmy:  **pretty sure i washed away all the shower gel / shampoo etc but...i guess we'll find out. idiot**

Armie:  **Dogs are fucking weird. No old dog outside the café today 🙁 **

Timmy:  **good morning? **

Armie:  **Fine. Happy because it's Friday **

He hesitates, waiting in line to pay. His heart thumps a quick extra beat as he types another message. 

Armie:  **Going to see a great play later. The lead's amazing. **

_ And painfully beautiful.  _

Timmy:  **don't, i already feel like hurling **

Timmy:  **(but don't stop.) **

Armie:  **Everyone leaves the theater feeling like they've seen the next big thing just waiting to happen **

Armie:  **And not to be shallow, but fuck, he's beautiful **

_ Beautiful? _

_ He called me beautiful. He won't be offended.  _

_ He is beautiful, anyway. It's exactly the right word. No matter that he's a guy.  _

The cashier calls for the next customer in a harried tone, and Armie steps up to pay for his salad. Outside in the sunshine again, his heart skips nervously when he unlocks his phone. 

Timmy:  **you should tell him. pretty sure he'd want to know **

Armie:  **He probably knows already 😉 **

Timmy:  **everyone likes to be told they're beautiful ** ❤️ 

Armie:  **And talented. **

Timmy:  **that too**

Armie:  **What kind of place is it this evening? How should I be dressed? **

Timmy:  **you could wear your work suit. just saying **

Armie rolls his eyes, smiling as he waits for the elevator in his office building. 

Armie:  **You're a cool young actor. You don't want to be seen out with a boring businessman **

Timmy:  **you don't know what i want **

Armie:  **Not yet, no.**

Timmy:  **and you're an idiot **

Armie:  **Well, that's nice **

Timmy:  **salad for lunch? **

Armie:  **You know it **

Timmy:  **what kind? **

Armie:  **You really want to know what kind of salad I'm eating at my desk? **

Timmy:  **of course. **

Armie:  **Of course, he says. **

Timmy:  **are you being mysterious about your salad? **

Armie:  **No ** 😂 

Timmy:  **and yet you don't tell me what your salad is **

Armie:  **Salmon and avocado, you strange man**

Timmy:  **the bar's casual. the fact you even asked means you normally hang out in super fancy places huh**

Armie:  **If by fancy you mean overpriced, pretentious and boring?**

Timmy:  **i'll take your word for it** 😂 

Armie:  **I should be working. And you should probably be sleeping**

Timmy:  **i slept pretty well last night **

Armie:  **Perfect. How did you manage to? **

Timmy:  **bribed myself **

Armie:  **With?**

Timmy:  **not wanting to look like crap when i see you 😂 **

Armie:  **Well you haven't looked like crap once yet **

Timmy:  **that's very chivalrous of you but i cried on you after being awake all night cleaning up puppy diarrhoea so **

Armie:  **I meant it**

Timmy:  **ugh. who are you. fair warning, i'm planning to kiss you a lot later. brace yourself **

Armie:  **Braced and ready. **

Timmy:  **this afternoon is going to feel looooong **

Armie:  **Tell me about it.**

Timmy:  **go do work **

Armie:  **Go take a nap **

Timmy: ☺️✌️❤

*

Armie calls by the sitter's place on the way home, giving Archie a quick scratch behind the ears and pat on the sides. 

At home, he takes a shower and stands in front of his wardrobe for far too long, finally deciding on navy trousers, a white shirt and a light grey knee-length jacket that he loves. He doubts it will be cold enough to wear it, really, but the cut of it is good and it satisfies some of Timmy's wish for him to look formal, without—he hopes—looking completely out of place at the theater or the bar. 

At the theater, he picks up his ticket to a welcoming smile from the woman running the box office. The ticket is in row C of the stalls, and marked 'comp' in one corner, so he supposes that marks him out as a friend or family member of one of the cast or crew. 

In deference to the one drink he'll have at the bar with Timmy later, he orders an orange juice instead of a beer. 

He takes a picture of the glass in his hand.

Armie: ** [image]**

Armie:  **Jealous?**

Timmy:  **i don't even want oj rn** 🤢

Armie:  **You'll be amazing.**

Timmy:  **are you wearing that shirt i like? **

Armie:  **Just a white shirt. Not the same one **

Timmy:  **you look ** ** _good_ ** ** in a white shirt 😍 **

Armie:  **You can only see my hand/wrist in that picture **

Timmy:  **you look good. i know it. and in a couple hours i'll confirm **

Armie:  **I'll come to the stage door again? Forgot a pen for autographs though… **

Timmy:  **what kind of fan even are you, man **

Armie:  **I know I know. Can I just point out though…you stole the last one **

Timmy:  **that…shhhh **

Armie:  **Just saying **

Timmy:  **are you in the bar? **

Armie:  **Yep. Going in soon though **

Timmy:  **did you see where you're sitting?**

Armie:  **I did. It was way too nice of you. I'll annoy everyone behind me**

Timmy:  **they can fuck off. you deserve a good view**

Armie:  **Guess I'll see those freckles this time.**

Timmy:  **well you're coming back to mine later so you can always check they were real** 😉

Armie:  **True. Could be stage makeup**

Timmy:  **imagine painting on belly freckles **

Armie:  **Going to get my seat **

Timmy:  **enjoy ** 😘 

Armie:  **Break a leg ** 😘 

*

Armie emerges into the bar at the interval with the sense of being unwillingly woken from a dream. He heads to the bathroom then finds a seat and pulls his phone from his pocket. 

Armie:  **The scene where you're replaying what happened in your mind...fuck. You don't even need to say a word. You're an incredible actor. **

Armie:  **How do you show every emotion like that? Everything shifting just below the surface. Fuck **

Armie:  **Sorry, I don't know what to say **

Timmy:  **don't you dare apologise you beautiful idiot **

Timmy:  **what you said is perfect **

_ Did Léo tell you how amazing you are?  _ The thought occurs as a stab to Armie's heart.  _ He must have done. You were together.  _

Armie:  **I'll be nervous about seeing you again after**

Timmy:  **you're crazy **

Armie:  **You're going to be famous. **

Timmy:  **shhh… **

Armie:  **Sorry. Probably seems insincere? But I did mean it. **

Timmy:  **i get the impression you always mean what you say **

Armie:  **Don't most people? We're going back in **

Timmy: ✌️😘 


	12. Chapter 12

When the play ends, Armie lingers in the foyer for a few minutes again. The woman from the box office is preparing to close it down, and looking at him curiously. He wonders if Timmy had told her they were friends. 

_ Or dating? No, he wouldn't say that. I mean, we haven't exactly dated. Just kissed.  _

_ Tonight's a date. Well, from now on, anyway.  _ His stomach flips nervously. 

He closes his eyes for a second, then checks his phone. 

Timmy:  **just getting changed. can't wait to see you **

Armie:  **I'll come round **

Before he leaves the theater, Armie pulls on his jacket and takes a breath.  _ I hope he thinks I look okay.  _

Armie waits by the stage door, trying to suppress the tells of his nervousness. 

At last the door clunks open, and Armie looks quickly up. Timmy's grinning at him, full of the fierce light he always seems to give off after being on stage. He has his backpack on, and Armie's pen in his right hand. 

"Found this in my bag." He offers it to Armie.

Armie can't help smiling. He pulls back the arm of his jacket and holds out his wrist. "Please." 

Timmy looks up at him with a half-disbelieving grin. 

"Isn't that what people do?" smiles Armie. "Ask their idol to sign? Then get it tattooed." 

"I'm not your idol." Timmy grabs Armie's wrist and signs it carefully, cradling his hand. The touch makes Armie swallow. "I don't want to be your  _ idol." _

Armie shrugs. "I understand. It'd be lonely up there on a pedestal." 

Timmy gives him a lopsided little smile, then his gaze drops away for a second. "Hey," he says, at last. "It's good to see you." His palm still curves to the back of Armie's hand. 

Armie's heart kicks.  _ Does he want me to kiss him? Is anyone around?  _ He swallows, ashamed of his own fear. "You too." 

Timmy looks up at him, but doesn't move closer, doesn't even look expectant. Armie's heart aches with it. 

_ He's kind. Far kinder than I deserve. And he's already learning not to expect anything from me.  _

He leans down and presses his lips swiftly to Timmy's, trying to ignore the immediate spark of fear down his spine. 

He feels Timmy smile into the kiss; press up a little, on tiptoes. 

_ There's no-one here. Or if there is, no-one cares about us.  _

Armie touches Timmy's jaw, lightly. Pulls him further into the kiss. 

Timmy's breath catches, and he reaches up to loop his arms around Armie's neck. Armie puts his hands tentatively on Timmy's waist. His heartbeat is slowing from its quick fearful patter; now he can concentrate on the way Timmy's lips yield to his, how the tip of Timmy's tongue sneaks out to flick delicately against his, the way Timmy nips softly at Armie's bottom lip, making him gasp— 

_ Fuck. Oh, fuck, I missed this. I missed him. And it's barely been two days.  _

"Damn, Armie," murmurs Timmy. He's smiling; his lips are full and red.  _ Kiss-bruised.  _ The thought makes Armie's pulse jump.  _ "That's  _ a kiss." 

Armie realizes he still has his hands on Timmy's waist. He's just staring down at him, probably looking stupid, dazed. He shakes his head slightly, and clears his throat. "You were amazing," he manages. 

"The kiss, or the play?" asks Timmy. His fingers toy with the too-long hair at Armie's nape. His eyes are hazel-deep in this light, crinkled at the edges with a smile. His eyelashes sweep, long and dark, against his cheeks when he blinks. 

"The play first.  _ Then _ the kiss," Armie returns. 

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." 

"I'll come up with some better stuff to say when my brain's not scrambled eggs from you kissing me." 

Timmy grimaces. "Oh...sorry. Not going to happen." 

Armie gives a quick huff of laughter. "Oh. No?" 

"Nope. Guess I'll have to forgo the full review." 

“Because I won’t recover, or because you won’t stop kissing me?”

“Both, hopefully.”

“Show me where this bar is, then.”

Timmy grins and takes a step back. Armie misses him immediately. 

“It’s only a five-minute drive.”

As they walk to the car, Armie feels the proximity of Timmy’s hand, the warmth of it brushing occasionally past his own. He wants to take it, hold it, interlace their fingers. He can almost feel the ghost of Timmy’s hand in his. 

_ Would it be too much? Is that more than—whatever we are? Rebound—whatevers, fuck buddies? I don’t even know—only he got the worst deal in history, a rebound fuck too scared to actually fuck— _

In the car, Armie tries not to focus on how much he enjoys driving Timmy, how much he likes having him in the passenger seat, taking him out on a date.  _ A date? Getting a drink together? Are they the same thing?  _

Timmy directs him to the bar, and they take the last parking spot in the lot behind it. 

“Busy,” comments Armie, as they climb out of the car. 

“Friday. They often have live music. Can I leave my bag in the trunk? I only need my wallet.”

“Sure.” Armie pops it for him, then reaches up to close it when Timmy’s done. Timmy catches his eye as the trunk closes, with a quick little smile. 

The bar is cosy; a welcoming pub. There’s a stage set up in one corner, and a guy tuning a guitar. The place is full, and Armie scans the crowd, trying to pick out anywhere for them to sit. As he’s watching, a couple women at a nearby table start pulling on their coats, clearly getting ready to leave. 

Armie touches Timmy’s arm. “Hey. They’re leaving. You want to grab the table?”

Timmy looks up and over to where Armie’s looking. “Good spot.”

“Vodka OJ?”

“Please.” 

At the bar, Armie smiles pleasantly at the barman and orders a vodka OJ for Timmy, and a pint of one of the specials for himself—a rich dark stout that says it has chocolate undertones. 

Timmy grins at him from the table. “What’ve you got?”

“A stout. Supposedly chocolatey. I’ll make it last, don’t worry. One of these is enough, when I’m driving.” They touch glasses. 

“I’ve got this weird feeling, like—”

“Like you’ve forgotten the dog?”

“Yeah.” Timmy giggles guiltily. “It’s kind of odd. I mean, I guess I’ve been out once or twice since I got her.” 

Armie shrugs. “We normally have them with us when we see one another.”

“True.” Timmy looks at him from under his eyelashes. “So it’s  _ you  _ making me feel like this.” 

Armie smiles; drops his gaze.  _ Is it safe for him to flirt like that here? So many people around—or does he know it’s safe because he and Léo used to come here?  _

In the corner, the guitarist starts testing the mic, and the chatter dips for a couple seconds before rising back to full force. 

Armie looks over at the stage, running his eye over the guitarist’s kit, his setup. 

“Do you play?” asks Timmy. 

Armie looks over at him. “Oh—yeah. I forgot you wouldn’t have seen my guitars. They’re in the spare bedroom, hidden from Archie.”

Timmy smiles. “Guitars, plural. So I guess you really  _ do  _ play.” 

Armie cuts his gaze away again. “Nothing serious, not like in a band or anything—just for fun.” He looks up. “Do you play anything?”

Timmy shrugs. “I had piano lessons as a kid. Not sure it took though, exactly. It was kind of useful for voice training, at school? But otherwise I haven’t used it in  _ years.”  _

Armie nods. “Yeah I learned piano too. But I can't really play properly.”

“Will you play me something?” 

“On piano? Or guitar?”

“Either. Both.”

“Maybe if you get me  _ really  _ drunk,” returns Armie, wryly. 

“Can do.” 

Armie huffs a laugh. “You play the piano, I’ll play guitar.”

“You  _ have  _ a piano?” 

“Only a keyboard. The apartment isn’t really big enough for—”

“You know, I think you play piano better than you say, and you’re being modest.” 

“No, I—” 

“You don’t tell people what you can do, unless they ask directly.”

Armie blinks. “Well, that’s normal, isn’t it? Not—bragging.”

Timmy grins.  _ “Not _ as common as you seem to think. Why don't you?" 

_ How do you do this?  _ wonders Armie.  _ You see right through me.  _

He follows the grain of the wood in the table with his gaze, observing the pattern.  _ He didn't judge you last time you spoke about it.  _

"Well. Most of it's the result of expensive tuition." He doesn't look up. "I had years of piano and guitar lessons. No idea how much money my parents even spent on them. That's a privilege. It's not because I'm—talented." 

Timmy seeks his gaze, and gives him a look. "Skilled, though. You still spent time." 

"Maybe reserve judgement on that until  _ after _ you've heard me play." 

"God, you're so—" Timmy rolls his eyes exasperatedly, but Armie can hear the fondness in his voice. 

"So—what?" 

"Infuriating." Timmy says it with the softest of smiles. 

"You say that like it's a good thing." 

Timmy's knee presses against Armie's under the table. "I'll explain what I mean later." 

The guitarist launches into his first song, and if it's a cover Armie doesn't recognize it. It feels strange to be out in a crowded bar, without the puppy, with someone new. Maybe it shows on his face. 

"Guess with work and Archie you haven't done this a lot recently either." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Nope. Normally Nick comes over when we catch up, so I don't have to call the sitter for Archie. And…" he shrugs.  _ And I've been avoiding my other friends completely.  _

Timmy looks at him, eyes almost sleepy-looking, but sharp. "And?" 

Armie sighs; plays with the condensation on the side of his glass. "The rest of them...I haven't seen in a while." 

"Why not?" asks Timmy. He takes a sip of his drink. "What's 'a while'?" 

Armie grimaces. "Shared friends. With...with Liz. My ex. And…" he turns his stout glass on the table. Struggles to explain. "This'll sound dumb but—I don't really know  _ who  _ I am right now—and it's not just about—about—"  _ my sexuality. It's everything. The way I want to live my life.  _

Timmy's watching him still. "Do you miss them?" 

Armie's thoughts flash guiltily to the still-unanswered—still  _ unread _ —message from Tyler. "Some of them. Yes. Some of them…" he shrugs. "I think I was only friends with them because it was convenient. Easy. Because of where we lived, stuff we did—just...a group, you know? And they'll all require an explanation of  _ why  _ I broke up with Liz, and I don't even fully understand that myself, yet—and if I told them about—if I came out, it'd go round the group like wildfire,  _ straight  _ back to Liz, and she'd call my mom in a heartbeat—" he shrugs. "I had a message from my mom the other day. 'There isn't much time for you to make this right with Liz.' She's been talking to her, making it seem like—like we're going to get back together, I guess." 

Timmy's mouth is an almost-comical little  _ o  _ of surprise. On anyone else it would look feigned, insincere. 

Armie gives a wry huff. "Yeah." 

Timmy swallows. Raises his eyebrows. Doesn't comment. "Why Nick?" he asks. "Out of all of them?" 

Armie shrugs. "We've been friends since eighth grade." 

"And you trust him?" 

"I've told him I'm...having therapy. Nothing else." The draw-down of Timmy's eyebrows expresses concern. Armie sighs. "He and Liz are close. I've often thought they'd make a better couple than Liz and I  _ ever  _ did. But...I do trust him. I just...don't know. If I'm ready." 

Beneath the table, Timmy's knee bumps against Armie's in a nervous pattern. Timmy takes another sip of his drink. 

"Who else do you miss?" 

_ This feels so odd. Admitting all of this. Talking about it.  _

"Tyler." Armie can't help a lopsided little smile. "He's—a good friend. But he introduced me and Liz at college. He's always been—I don't know. There for both of us." 

Timmy nods. "Must be hard. Disentangling that shit, I mean. After so long together." 

_ Didn't you have to?  _ wonders Armie.  _ When Léo—at the end of your relationship? _

Maybe it's the stout working on him already, but he actually frames a question from his burning curiosity. "You and—and Leo had separate friends? Or…" 

Timmy shrugs. His lips press together, and for a second Armie wonders if he's going to refuse to answer. "No. Not really? But—well, for a start we were only together nearly two years, so it's not...we had friends together, sure. Not my closest friends, though. I mean, they're all at home so it was tough when…" he bites his lip and looks down at the table. "Kind of…a lot, being away from them." 

Armie's heart aches.  _ He can't wait to go home and be with them.  _ He only hears himself asking the next question when it's already too late to stop. "It must've been serious with him, though. If you moved here." He wants to apologise immediately, tell Timmy he doesn't have to answer—

"I thought it was." Timmy's face is open, vulnerable. There's a tiny frown between his eyes. "I mean, turns out I was dumb as fuck on a number of levels, but—" he shrugs, "—yeah." He takes a gulp of his drink, then makes a kind of wincing frown conveying more hurt than Armie thinks he can bear to witness. "I think he  _ wanted _ to be the kind of person who commits like that? To someone, I mean. But, yeah. He asked me and I  _ did, _ I came here for him, but he couldn't quite…" he bites his lip, staring down at the table. "Like I say, I was dumb. I just never questioned…I didn't think he could do that..." 

Armie's heart races as he contemplates what he wants to do. He glances around. Everyone's busy, uninterested. He swallows, mouth dry, and puts his elbows on the table. Reaches out and touches Timmy's hand where it curves to the glass. "I'm sorry for asking." His fingers linger on Timmy's wrist; and his ears are a rush of pounding blood, fight-or-flight adrenaline coursing through him.  _ I'm sorry this is all I can offer. It's nothing—a touch in a crowded bar. What the fuck is wrong with me?  _ He tries again, staring at their hands. His voice sounds strange at first. "You weren't dumb. Don't say that. If he was fucking stupid enough to throw away…then that's on him." His hand is still on Timmy's, his chest tight with fear. 

When he looks up, Timmy's eyes are fixed on his. Armie can't quite read his expression. Slowly, Timmy moves his hand, stroking Armie's fingers. His own are cold from the glass. "I should've realized," he says, at last. "There were clues, in hindsight. Like I say, I think he  _ wanted  _ to be that—that person. And he did a good impression of it, for a while." 

"I'm sorry." Armie doesn't know what else to say. 

Timmy gives him a small, lopsided smile. "No. I'm sorry for dumping that on you." 

Armie shakes his head, firmly. "Don't be ridiculous." _ We're holding hands, kind of, and nobody cares. Nobody cares.  _ "I'm sort of—glad to know a bit more," he admits. "I couldn't help but wonder what kind of dumb fucking asshole would do that to you." He says it lightly, like it's a joke, and Timmy's face breaks into a wry little smile. 

Timmy glances down, eyelashes long against his pale cheek. His fingers stroke Armie's wrist, traveling lightly over delicate skin. "Haven't talked about it a lot," he says, at last. "It's—kind of a relief." 

Armie suppresses a shiver as Timmy brushes the inside of his wrist again. He turns his hand, loosely interlacing his fingers with Timmy's. "You can always talk to me." 

_ Is that weird? Is that weird for—whatever we are?  _

Timmy pushes his fingers a little further between Armie's. "You can talk to me too." He smiles. "But you should call your friend Tyler. I'm going to bug you about it." 

Armie laughs, quietly. "This is how you get away with stuff, right? Say it with a cute smile." 

Timmy grins more widely. "You know it. And  _ do  _ it with a cute smile." 

Disbelievingly, Armie looks at their hands on the table: clasped closely together. Gently, he squeezes Timmy's hand. 

"Why did—why LA, in the first place?" Armie asks, tentatively. He doesn't know if Timmy wants to talk about it any longer. 

"He was doing the MFA at UCLA." 

"Oh—so he was an artist, or—" 

Timmy shakes his head. "In acting. Well, he was planning to go into the actor-producer specialization later. But then, obviously—went back to France." 

"He gave up his course?" 

"Yep. Found a way to transfer to a college in Paris. I don't really know how it worked." He gives a wry little huff. "We weren't talking—exactly. By then." 

Armie squeezes Timmy's hand again. "Tell me if I should stop asking." 

Timmy shakes his head. "It's fine. Really. Can I—ask something too?" 

Armie nods. 

"Did you—did things end well? With—Liz? With what you said about—about your mom—"

Armie lets out a breath. "I—I'm not sure, really. I mean—that sounds dumb, probably. I just—I said it was over, but I couldn't give her a lot of  _ reasons.  _ You know what I mean? I didn't want to—I hadn't started therapy yet, and I was confused, uh—scared, I guess. I just wanted to get away. Change things. Just—change." He sighs, and looks down at his beer. "Well. You can probably tell I've just been—running, since then. From all of them. And it's fucking—cowardly. I do know that." 

Timmy turns Armie's hand; lays it down on the table. Circles his finger around Armie's palm.  _ Round and round the garden,  _ whispers Armie's brain. 

"It's not  _ cowardly _ to not come out before you're ready, Armie." Timmy says it softly, but intently. Carefully. "I mean it. You can't force it." 

"But—people with much worse situations than me come out all the time—" 

"So? You can't play that game. You're not them. They're not you." 

"You're too kind to me." 

Timmy scrunches his nose.  _ "Too kind  _ to you? I'm kinder to you than  _ you  _ are. Not  _ too _ kind." 

"You don't— _ know  _ what I deserve. Whether I deserve—this." 

Timmy makes a fist. Gently punches Armie's palm on the table.  _ As if we're boxing.  _ "Everyone queer has been here, Armie. Trying to pick the right time, or—or the least bad time, if the situation's not…" he sighs. Smoothes his thumb across the place he's just punched. "Trying to get it right, just to feel—to feel  _ seen.  _ Understood. Known." He shakes his head. "I don't know the right way to say it—but I do know what you're feeling. Or—some of it." 

"You do know the right way to say it. You just said it. Perfectly." Armie wants to kiss him. He can't stop looking. 

"What?" asks Timmy, after a few seconds. His eyelashes flutter, and he looks suddenly very young. Self-conscious.

_ I want to kiss you.  _

Armie clasps Timmy's hand, threading their fingers together again. "Need another drink?" he nods at Timmy's empty glass. 

Timmy checks the time on his phone; bites his lip. "Can we have another at home?" 

"Yes," Armie says, maybe too quickly. 

Timmy grins. "Tell me if you want to stay, or—" 

Armie laughs, feeling himself blush. "Okay, okay." 

Timmy squeezes his hand, still grinning. "You want to finish your drink?" 

Armie picks up his beer and downs the rest in two gulps. Timmy giggles, giving him a look that—Armie's pretty sure—has him blushing even harder. 

They head for the door. Armie looks at Timmy's hand; wishes he'd taken it again as they left the table. 

He opens the door for Timmy, then dares himself and grabs Timmy's hand. 

Timmy glances obliquely up at him, and weaves their fingers together. 

Armie's heart pounds again as they cross the parking lot; but he feels pride, too.  _ I may be a coward in a lot of ways, but I am trying not to be. About him, anyway. _ At the car, he stops, tugging on Timmy's hand. "Hey." 

Timmy turns to look at him. He'd been about to let go, about to walk around Armie's SUV, and get in the other door. "Mm?" 

Armie pulls him closer still.  _ Come here, to me.  _ He tucks a curl behind Timmy's ear. 

Timmy smiles, and Armie bends down to kiss him.

"You know you don't have to?" asks Timmy, when their lips are about to touch. 

"You know I really fucking want to?" 

"Doesn't mean it's easy." 

"Good things mostly aren't. Or so I'm told." 

Timmy grins, and presses his lips to Armie's. "You're persuasive."

"You're kissable." 

"You sound like a  _ Teen Vogue  _ article." 

"Excellent political commentary, I've heard." 

"You have an answer for everything." 

"You're procrastinating." 

"Then make me stop." 

Armie huffs a laugh and puts his hand on the nape of Timmy's neck; pulls him into the kiss. Leans back against the driver's door and pulls Timmy with him. 

Timmy's hands slip under Armie's jacket; up his back. They're cold.

"You're always cold," Armie murmurs, before he nips Timmy's bottom lip. 

"Mm-hmm." Timmy nods, kissing the corner of Armie's mouth. "It's the middle of the night." 

"It's also spring." 

"Doesn't stop it being cold at night." 

Armie smiles, and kisses the chilly tip of Timmy's nose. "Archie, then Livs, then yours." 

"Tell me you brought Archie's crate." 

Armie feels his cheeks flush a little. "I did." 

"Tell me you're staying over." 

"Don't you have two shows tomorrow?" 

"Yes." 

"You sure you want me to?" 

"Idiot." 

"I don't have my toothbrush." 

Timmy gives him a look. "Kind of late to be worried about sharing mouth germs now." 

"That…is true," Armie concedes, pulling Timmy back in and kissing him again. "C'mon. Before you freeze." 

"I've frozen already," says Timmy, as he walks around the SUV. "Too late." 

As they drive, Armie bites his lip, thinking. 

"What?" asks Timmy. 

Armie sighs. "Does it bother you?" he asks. "That—that you can tell it's not easy for me? I imagine it feeling kind of—unflattering. Insulting." 

Timmy reaches over; puts his hand on Armie's thigh. "You need to stop worrying." 

"Huh. What a concept." 

Timmy snorts. "Sassy." There's a grin in his voice. 

Outside the sitter's place, Armie pulls up and parks. He's about to get out of the car when Timmy squeezes his thigh and pouts. "Hey." 

"Hey?" teases Armie. 

"Can't believe you're just  _ leaving, _ without making out with me in the car first." 

Armie checks his watch. "It's seven minutes to midnight. We're on a timer." 

"Seven minutes in heaven."

"Cheeseball." 

The angle's a little awkward, but Armie forgets to care; Timmy's lips yield to his, and his hand is warm on his thigh. Armie hopes his excitement isn't too obvious. 

When he looks at his watch again, he groans and pulls away. "Got to go fetch Archie." 

Timmy pouts again, but Armie grins and taps him under the chin. "We need to keep Lena on side. She is dogsitting  _ excellence,  _ and I'm not losing her. Pouty." He jumps out of the car and walks slowly to the house, relying on the cold night air to sort out his rather excited predicament. He knocks quietly rather than ringing the doorbell, since Lena's daughter will be asleep; runs a hand through his hair while he waits. There's nothing he can do about his undoubtedly flushed cheeks. 

When Lena answers the door, it's with Archie ready in his crate; he whines and scrabbles to be let out to greet Armie, but Armie just strokes his nose through the bars, thanks Lena, and carries Archie to the car. 

He pops the trunk and puts Archie's crate inside, taking off the trunk cover so that he'll be able to see him in the mirror. He grabs Timmy's backpack, closes the trunk, and carries Timmy's bag back to him. 

"Thanks," says Timmy, as Armie gets back behind the wheel. "Archie okay?" 

"Whining because he wants to come see us. You're going to need to direct me to your friend's place." 

Timmy tells him the address for the GPS, and they set off. 

"I miss your hand," says Armie, after a minute. 

Timmy puts his hand back on Armie's thigh. "We never had dinner," he says. 

Armie looks over at him. "Fuck. Some great date I'm taking you on. Drive-thru?" 

Timmy squeezes Armie's thigh. "Okay, you're going to tease me, and of course we can stop for food if you want, but what I'm  _ actually _ craving is Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Like, badly. Uh, so." 

Armie laughs. "I mean, I get it. You've switched over to breakfast already. D'you have it at home?" 

Timmy nods. "Yup.  _ And _ I have milk for once. Can we have cereal dinner?" 

"Does it still count as dinner? It's the middle of the night. Night-lunch?" 

Timmy giggles. "Can we?" 

"If it's what you're craving." 

"It is. Among other things." 

Armie can't help grinning, even as he feels himself blush. "Flirt." 

"What? I meant tea, obviously." Timmy brushes his thumb back and forth across Armie's thigh. 

Saoirse's place is close to Timmy's. Armie draws up outside, and Timmy kisses him quickly before jumping out of the car. 

Armie checks his phone while Timmy's inside, flicking through various emails and messages. Tyler's message pops up again, and he swipes it away with another quick stab of guilt. 

When the passenger door opens, Armie looks quickly up and blinks in shock: there's a pale, slim blonde girl staring at him with singular intentness. 

"Hi," she says, blankly. "I'm the dogsitter." 

Timmy, standing behind her, holding an excitedly-bouncing Livvy's leash, mouthes  _ sorry. _ He's biting his bottom lip, and his shoulders are hunched with embarrassment.

"Then you must be Saoirse." Armie prays he's said it right, and holds out his hand. "Hi. Armie."

She narrows her eyes. "Not the worst attempt anyone's ever made at my name." Slowly, she shakes his hand. Her fingers are slim and cool, her hand small in his.

"Well, I had practice with 'Timothée'." 

She huffs slightly, but still doesn't smile. "Nice to meet you, Armie." She says it like a threat; her gaze is still intense, as though deliberately memorizing his face. 

"You too. Well, I guess we should—" 

Timmy opens the back door, and helps Livvy jump up onto the seat. Clips the dog seatbelt to her harness. 

"See you again," says Saoirse, stepping back and nodding to Armie. She folds her arms against the cold, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Timmy as he turns to climb into the passenger seat. 

As they drive away, Armie lets out a breath.

"I'm sorry," mumbles Timmy, quickly. "She's—kind of intense sometimes, and she said she was coming down to see you even though I told her not to—" 

"Is she an actress?" 

"Yes." Timmy sounds surprised. 

"She played any assassins recently?" Armie asks, with a grin. "I feel like I might be on a hitlist." 

Timmy huffs a laugh. "She's—kind of protective over me. After—what happened with...yeah. Uh, sorry." 

Armie glances quickly at him. "Why are you sorry?" 

"Well. You don't deserve to be grilled, just because…" he shrugs. "Y'know." 

Armie reaches over and grabs Timmy's hand; puts it back on his thigh. Shrugs. "I don't mind."  _ I'm glad your friend is protective. I wish you'd been protected from that asshole before he hurt you. _

_ Anyway,  _ an unworthy part of his brain adds,  _ I kind of liked pretending I was important enough to be grilled by your friend. Like a future partner, rather than just a way to fill five weeks.  _

_ Nearly five weeks.  _


	13. Chapter 13

Both Archie and Livvy whine and scrabble all the way to Timmy's place, trying to reach one another over the division between the back seat and the trunk. 

Armie and Timmy exchange a look as Armie parks up. "Hang out on the grass for a bit?" asks Armie. "They should meet each other outside, or they'll trash your place. Way too excited." 

Timmy nods. 

They put the leashes on, and spend the next ten minutes disentangling them regularly as the puppies play-fight on the grass. Eventually Armie tugs Archie away to find a place for him to pee. 

"Just going to crate him down here and carry him up," he says, as they stroll back to the SUV. "He should be good till morning now. Way past his bedtime." 

Timmy grins. "I'll crate Livs too when we get upstairs." He bites his lip and looks up at Armie through his eyelashes. "I figure—they could stay in the living room? If we put their crates near each other they'd have company. We could leave the bedroom door open a bit, if you want." 

It's dark and quiet in Timmy's neighborhood at this time. Armie touches Timmy's chin, pulling it up to kiss him quickly. "Sounds good." Timmy leans into him, and the kiss lengthens, only ending when Livvy and Archie take off after one another so fast that they jerk the leashes and almost pull Timmy off his feet. 

"Livvy…" grumbles Timmy, smiling. "Shittest wingman  _ ever—" _

Armie snorts, and calls Archie back to shut him in his crate again. 

On their way up the stairs, Timmy has to hold Livvy by the handle on her harness, because she won't stop jumping to try and get to Archie. 

As Armie pushes off his shoes just inside the door, Timmy fetches Livvy's crate and bribes her into it. They set them up in the living room, close enough that they can see one another, but not so close they can try to reach out and paw each other. 

With just one lamp on, Timmy pours them a bowl of cereal each. His voice is quiet when he asks, "you want a drink? We were going to get drunk, and now we're eating cereal." 

Armie steps in behind him and slips his arms around Timmy's waist, glorying in the warmth and presence of him. He buries his lips in the place where Timmy's neck meets his shoulder; breathes in deeply. Shrugs. "Parenthood is weird," he murmurs quietly.

Timmy huffs a laugh and leans back into him, reaching up to push his hand into Armie's hair. "Armie…" 

Armie caresses Timmy's stomach through his sweater.  _ Does he want me to stop?  _ He pulls back a little, and Timmy gasps, presses further back against him. 

"Don't, please—" 

Tentatively, Armie slips his hands under Timmy's sweater and t-shirt to soft, silky skin; kisses a freckle on Timmy's neck, then another and another and another. 

Timmy slides his hands over Armie's, holding them in place. They're pressed together, and all Armie can think is  _ he must be able to feel how hard I am—  _ He wants to slide his hand down, feel if Timmy's hard too. 

Timmy turns his head; finds Armie's gaze. "You feel so good," he says, and the simplicity of it is more arousing than Armie could ever have expected. 

Armie presses his forehead to Timmy's temple. Closes his eyes for a second. "So do you," he whispers. 

Timmy turns in Armie's embrace. "Bed," he whispers, between kisses. 

They get there slowly, in stumbling steps, kissing all the way. Armie laughs as Timmy pushes him down and climbs on top of him. They're still fully-clothed. 

Timmy pulls back and looks down at him, suddenly serious. "You know I'm literally not expecting anything from you?" he asks, stroking Armie's hair. "Right?" 

_ You should,  _ says Armie's brain.  _ You have a right to expect something from an adult man who keeps kissing you.  _

Then,  _ you'd never think that about him if the tables were turned.  _

His silence clearly speaks volumes, because Timmy leans down and bites none too gently at Armie's bottom lip. "You don't  _ owe _ me anything, Armie. Stop thinking like that. You're hot as fuck and I love making out with you. I don't  _ want _ you to do anything you're not ready for. Got it?" 

"You bit me." 

"Yup. You were being an ass." 

Armie sighs. "I—isn't it just a bit annoying? I mean—" 

Timmy snorts; mouthes at Armie's jaw this time. "I have  _ hands,  _ Armie. C'mon." 

Armie closes his eyes for a second, feeling himself flush. "Fuck. Thanks for  _ that _ thought." The picture is stark in his mind's eye:  _ Timmy with his hand inside his boxers, flushed and panting, teasing himself here, in his bed— _

Timmy grins, leaning down to press their foreheads together. He shrugs. "Well. It's true. It's not like we're—without recourse." 

_ Only you would say 'without recourse' in relation to jerking off.  _ Armie huffs a wry laugh. "Okay, you're going to laugh at me now…" 

Timmy immediately scrunches his nose in curiosity. "Tell me." 

Armie sighs. He's still blushing, he can feel it. "I've kind of been—struggling to find time for—that. Lately. I mean—it's just, Archie's always in bed with me, and—well, during year-end there was no chance, and…" 

Timmy groans and presses his lips to Armie's cheek. "Armie, fuck—I swear, dude, you are  _ so  _ fucking bad at taking care of yourself. Showers, man.  _ Showers."  _

"Yeah, but then I'm worrying about Archie breaking stuff, or—" 

"Crate him." 

"But then he whines constantly—" 

"So? You can't actually hear that—" Timmy bites the end of Armie's nose. "I think you deny yourself shit that's good for you." 

"This is like making out with my therapist. Fuck." 

Timmy giggles. "Are they hot? Or—" 

"Ugh, Timmy—she's...older. By a  _ lot. _ And also  _ my therapist."  _

"Well, transference—" 

Armie pokes him in the ribs. "Asshole." 

Timmy interlaces their fingers, pinning Armie's hands next to his head. He kisses Armie's wrist, over the blurred imprint of his own signature. "Go take a shower," he murmurs into his ear. "I'm here. I can check on the puppies if they whine." 

Armie closes his eyes; takes a breath. Arousal thrills hotly low in his stomach.  _ What about you? I'll know you're here, knowing what I'm doing. _ The thought has him so hard he can barely think. 

_ I'd miss you.  _ It's an odd thought, but honest. 

Armie opens his eyes; finds Timmy still looking at him, eyes hazel-green, bright with arousal. "I'd miss you." He can't really believe he's said it, but he's glad he did. 

Timmy blinks; scans his expression, as if checking for sincerity. His lips press together, indecision written across his face. 

_ He doesn't want to push me,  _ realizes Armie. He feels emotional, raw, with an odd urge to cry. "Come with me?" he asks, in a hoarse whisper. 

"Fuck. You really want me to?" 

Armie squeezes Timmy's hands, still pinning his to the bed. "Yes." His heart pounds as he says it. 

"Of course I will, if you really—" 

Armie cranes up to catch Timmy's lips in a kiss. It's easier than words, just now.  _ Please. I want this with you. I'm scared, but I want you so much.  _

"Armie…" Timmy murmurs. His voice is quiet but deep, and Armie marvels at how sexy he finds it.  _ I really am attracted to men.  _ "You don't have to push yourself," says Timmy. "I promise. There's no pressure, no—" 

Armie shakes his head, fiercely. "That's not—I'm not—" he takes a breath. “I swear, okay? And I’ve only had one beer, so you have to believe me.”

Timmy snorts a laugh. “Okay, okay. More of this first, though,” he smiles, wriggling luxuriously on Armie. “I fucking  _ love  _ this.” 

Armie smiles, stretching his arms up, pulling Timmy’s hands with his so that their bodies are as close together as possible.  _ When was the last time I made out with someone for the sake of making out? He must be so fucking frustrated with me, but he still wants to do this.  _

“Surprised you haven’t attacked me with ketchup yet,” he murmurs, as Timmy kisses slowly down his neck. He feels Timmy smile.

“But your shirt is so nice,” murmurs Timmy. “Plus I’m thinking you might let me take it off anyway.”

“Hey, I might.”

Timmy disentangles his hands and pushes himself up to sit across Armie’s hips. Armie gasps, knowing Timmy must be able to feel how hard he is still. 

Brushing one finger along Armie’s collarbone, Timmy watches him with sleepy-looking eyes. His lips are red and full. His finger comes to rest at the first fastened button of Armie’s shirt. He waits; Armie smiles and nods. 

Armie gasps softly as Timmy starts undoing buttons, kissing the new skin that’s revealed with each one. He can’t help huffing with ticklish laughter as Timmy kisses his belly, and Timmy looks up at him with a triumphant grin.

“You’re going to use that against me, aren’t you?” asks Armie, resignedly.

“Of  _ course  _ I am.” 

“Hmm.” Armie waits a beat, then sits up and easily flips them over; kneels over Timmy and rucks up his sweater and t-shirt. “Time to find out if those freckles are at all ticklish, I think.” 

Timmy giggles and squirms as Armie brushes his lips across each freckle, following the dip and line of his hipbones, the tiny curve of his belly, the hair that leads down—Armie feels it with a quick shock of contradictory unfamiliarity and recognition, an odd wrench of his heart that amounts to  _ he’s the same as me, we’re the same.  _

“Not fair,” giggles Timmy. “You’ve got stubble—”

“Barely,” laughs Armie. He deliberately brushes his chin against Timmy’s side, making him squirm, then bites at a freckle. “Shaved this morning." 

"Well then you have a fast regrowth rate." Timmy buries both hands in Armie's hair, tugging softly. 

Armie's breath catches in his throat. 

Timmy strokes Armie's cheek. "You like that?" he whispers. 

Slowly, eyes closed, Armie nods.

Timmy tugs his hair again. "Tell me when you like things, okay? And when you don't." 

"I'd like to take  _ this _ off," murmurs Armie, taking the hem of Timmy's sweater in his hands. 

Immediately, Timmy sits up and holds up his arms; the gesture is sweet, almost childlike. They both laugh as Armie wrestles the sweater and t-shirt off him. 

Timmy smoothes his hands across Armie's shoulders, pushing the shirt down and off. "Damn, I was right," he says, with a grin. 

"Right?" 

"I had a bet with myself that you're even more beautiful with your shirt off." 

"Smart. Can't lose if you bet with yourself." 

"Can't lose if the bet involves you in any state of dress or undress." He grins, leaning in to kiss the corner of Armie's mouth. "You're blushing, and it's fucking adorable." 

"You keep  _ complimenting  _ me."

"Ugh. The worst, I know. Why am I like this." Timmy kisses, licks, then nibbles Armie's earlobe. "Anyone who  _ doesn't  _ compliment you is insane." 

Armie curls onto his side and presses his face to Timmy's belly. "Argh." Timmy's hard cock is close to him, a clearly-defined bulge in his jeans. Arousal beats a thumping pulse in his veins.

Timmy strokes his hand through Armie's hair. "Can I ask you something?" 

Slowly, Armie nods. 

"I know you've not been with a guy before. Is there anything that freaks you out? Turns you off? Just so you know, I'm assuming anal isn't on the cards for right now. I generally wouldn't jump into that right away with someone new anyway. My preference." 

Armie takes a breath.  _ How does he find it so easy to talk about this stuff?  _ "Mostly I—guess I worry about not being—good? For you, I mean. Worry about freaking out or—or just not knowing what to do." He presses the pad of his thumb to a freckle just below Timmy's rib. "But I don't think anything about you could turn me off.  _ Ever." _

Timmy huffs a soft little laugh. "You're all curled up trying to deflect compliments. I need to kiss you a bunch more, so. Come here." He pulls at Armie until they're lying on their sides, face to face. Timmy grins and rubs their noses together. "Hey." 

Armie kisses him, nibbling at his bottom lip. Before long Timmy's legs are wrapped around Armie's waist, left hand clutched tight on Armie's back, right tangling through his hair. 

Armie's cock is steel, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his pants. He can feel Timmy's erection hard against his stomach. His heart pounds, arousal and nerves an almost-overwhelming mixture. 

Armie puts a hand on Timmy's hipbone and pushes him gently back, until he's lying flat. He takes a breath. "Can I?" he asks, tracing the waistband of Timmy's jeans with one finger. 

Breathlessly, Timmy nods. "Are you—"

Armie can't help smiling. "Stop. I promise I'll stop if I freak out." He swallows. "If I do, I—please know it's not about _ you—"  _ He says it quickly, reluctantly. "I hope I won't, I just…" 

Timmy grabs Armie's hand. "Let's both, okay? Together. Come here." He pulls Armie up until they're kneeling. "Kiss me." 

Timmy's fingers work at Armie's pants button and zipper; clumsily, Armie does the same with Timmy's jeans. They huff a nervous laugh as they work each other, and then themselves, out of their pants and boxers, sitting down to remove them completely. Timmy pushes all the clothes off the bed, then lies down on top of Armie.

Armie gasps at the acres of soft pale skin suddenly pressed against his; at the hardness he feels against his own, steel-soft—he wants to see, wants to touch, but for now he just lets himself feel. Lets his pulse calm, just a little. 

"You feel so good," whispers Armie, because he wants Timmy to  _ know.  _

Timmy kisses him, slow and sweet. "Fuck. So do you." 

Armie sweeps his hands up and down Timmy's sides, and across his back; marveling at all the skin he's allowed. 

_ Can I touch?  _ He wants to say it, wants to ask, but his throat is tight with shyness. Instead he skims the fingers of his right hand softly against Timmy's side, his stomach, asking with his eyes. 

Timmy's breath catches in his throat. He presses his forehead to Armie's, and puts a little space between them; just an inch or two, but Armie misses him immediately. He tips his chin up and kisses Timmy, slipping his hand between their bodies. His heart is pounding, blood rushing in his ears so loudly he can't hear anything else. 

His fingers touch Timmy's cock hesitantly, fumblingly; but Timmy's lips part in pleasure all the same. 

_ I'm touching another guy's dick.  _ Armie waits for some reaction to the thought: fear, or disgust, or anxiety. None comes. He feels the same odd swell of pride and embarrassment he had when he lost his virginity:  _ everything's different, and nothing's different at all.  _

_ It's just his body. It's just Timmy's body.  _

He wraps his fist around Timmy's cock, knuckles pressing into the soft flat warmth of his belly. It's hard and velvet-soft in his hand,  _ like mine and not mine.  _ He feels protective, suddenly; full of the wish to get this right, to somehow show Timmy that this means everything. 

Timmy gives a soft gasp. He finds Armie's gaze and smiles, lit up with a glow like the one he has when he comes off stage.  _ Okay?  _ asks a quick draw-together of his brows. 

Armie kisses him deeply, needily.  _ Okay? Of course I'm okay. Look what you're giving me. Fuck.  _ He can feel the coiled tension in Timmy's body, the way he's holding back. 

"Let's shower?" murmurs Timmy, voice deep. 

Armie nods, nervous again as Timmy pulls away, knowing he'll be seen—but Timmy grins at him, grabs his hands and tows him towards the bathroom. 

Timmy sets the water running, and Armie watches the lines of his slim body, the curve of his tiny ass, the gangly length of his legs, the sharp wings of shoulderblades that he wants to kiss. 

He reaches out a hand and runs his fingers along the line of Timmy's shoulder, his right shoulderblade. 

Timmy almost shivers with it, turning his head to give Armie a soft look. "Water's warm." 

They laugh as they step into the shower; it's not huge, and with both of them in there, it feels frankly cramped. Armie's so tall that he'd have to bend his knees to wash his hair, even with the shower head pushed the highest it will go. 

Timmy wraps his arms around Armie's neck, and pushes up on tiptoes to claim a kiss. Sensory impressions flood Armie's awareness: the softness of Timmy's lips, the warmth of the water on their skin, the way Timmy's hair straightens as it's soaked, running rivulets over his collarbones—

Armie presses Timmy back against the tiles, smiling as Timmy hisses at the cold and bites his bottom lip. "Sorry," murmurs Armie. 

Timmy hums and licks where he'd bitten. "Can I touch you?" 

Armie closes his eyes for a second, trying to master his need. "Yes," he manages, at last. "Please." 

He has to fight the urge to push into Tim's fist as it wraps around his cock.  _ It's been a long time since anyone touched me like this—hungrily, curiously, as if they want to learn what I like— _

He needs to concentrate on something, or everything's going to be over way too soon. He pulls back a little, reaches down between them; wraps his hand around Timmy's cock. They negotiate space, and find a rhythm; Timmy's left hand travels slowly over Armie's belly, his chest, circling then brushing across a nipple, following his collarbones, resting briefly in the dip at the base of his neck—

Armie traces the line of Timmy's jaw with the pad of his thumb, and bends to kiss him. It's slow but needy, spinning out, changing. 

_ He kisses like a conversation.  _

Armie's toes curl against the base of the shower, pleasure lapping at him, threatening to overwhelm. "Fuck," he murmurs, against the corner of Timmy's mouth. "Too much—"

Timmy pulls back; glances at him as if worried, then relaxes. Grins. "Could be just right. Not too much. If you want." 

Arousal washes through Armie anew; he wants to come, of course he does, but  _ letting go, with him— _

"Not exactly showcasing my stamina," he says, with a wry smile. He knows he's blushing.

"Dude, you haven't even been jerking off." Timmy rolls his eyes. "If that was me I'd've come when you took your fucking shirt off." 

_ When did you last…?  _ The thought is painfully sexy, almost too much. 

Timmy grins, and answers the question that's clearly written itself across Armie's face. "This morning. Right here." 

Armie rolls his eyes and groans; rests his forehead against Timmy's temple. "Why did you have to tell me  _ that—"  _

Timmy giggles. "Because I love watching you control yourself." 

Armie gives him a look; bites softly at his cheek. "Little fucker." 

Timmy kisses his chin, his jaw, his throat. "Let me make you come." 

Armie controls a shiver at the words.  _ He just says things. He seems to find it easy.  _ "Let me—make you too." 

Timmy smiles up at him, trusting, sweet, cheeky. "That will  _ not  _ be difficult, believe me." 

"Not just me controlling myself, then?"

"Definitely not just you." Timmy sweeps both hands down Armie's sides to his hips, fingertips teasing lightly at Armie's buttocks as they skim back up. He wraps his right hand around Armie's cock again, tighter now, more intent. 

Under the water, the friction is intense; Armie gasps and begins to stroke Timmy's cock again too. He's caught up in the difference of doing this to someone else, absorbed in trying to listen for Timmy's noises of pleasure, trying to give as much as he's taking. 

Timmy brushes their lips together, not asking for more. He hums a sound of satisfaction and pleasure against Armie's lips, then groans. "Fuck, Armie…" 

Armie's belly tenses.  _ My name on his lips as he strokes my dick—  _ He struggles not to come.

"Stop it," murmurs Timmy, smiling up at him. His eyes are soft hazel, crinkled at the corners with amusement. "Stop resisting. Let yourself feel good." 

Armie huffs a shy laugh; kisses him. "You're so…" 

"So…?" 

"Free." 

Timmy shrugs. "You deserve to feel good." He licks across Armie's lips, bottom to top. Grins. "You're  _ way  _ too beautiful to deny yourself." 

Armie shakes his head, huffing a laugh. Tightens his hand and strokes harder, more deliberately. 

Timmy gasps, narrowing his eyes; smiles at the challenge. "Ready when you are." 

"You make it sound like a race." 

"Might be." Timmy lavishes kisses on Armie's neck, nudging under his chin with his nose. "Easily fucking could be if you keep—" he groans as Armie increases his pace. "Cheat." 

Armie groans too as Timmy retaliates. "Okay, okay—fuck—" 

His heart is beating hard again.  _ He wants you to let go. He wants you to come.  _ He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of the spray. The water makes him feel clean— _ absolved.  _

He shakes the thought away and presses his forehead to Timmy's, demanding eye contact. 

Timmy gives it, without hesitation. His eyes are almost golden in the bathroom light, his cheeks flushed high along those sharp cheekbones. "Fuck, Armie. You're making me feel so good." His voice is a low murmur, mingling with the patter of the spray. "Please, Armie—fuck, please, I need to come, I'll come if you keep—" he gasps as Armie groans. 

_ How does he know exactly what I need?  _ is Armie's last coherent thought, and then his eyes are closing as he starts to come, shaking, eyes closing, tipping over the edge into a climax that leaves him barely able to breathe. He vaguely feels Timmy shuddering against him, the press of their hips together as they both chase every shiver of sensation—

For a few seconds when it's over, he just breathes.

_ Did I come on him? Did he mind? Fuck, was it—did he feel good? I didn't really pay attention— _

He pulls back and finds Timmy's gaze; cups his cheek and jaw. "Are you—was—" 

Timmy grins at him, then presses their lips together. "Are you seriously about to ask me if—" 

Armie grimaces, then smiles. "No…?" 

"You were. But yes, Armie, you made me feel fucking awesome." Timmy reaches up and grabs the shower head; rinses their hands and bellies. 

Armie can't stop staring at his lips, red and full; at the way droplets of water glisten on his eyelashes. His hair looks so different, straight and slicked back; it highlights how beautiful every single one of his other features is. 

"Hey," says Timmy, putting the showerhead back in its holder. He lays his hand flat on Armie's chest. "You good?" 

_ Literally just staring at how beautiful you are.  _ Armie blinks and smiles. "When your hair's wet your cheekbones are ridiculous." 

Timmy looks at him, then laughs. "Okay. Not what I expected, but I'll take it." He kisses Armie again. "My hair'll be a fucking mess in the morning, so." He gestures to the shower. "Enough? We'll probably lose hot water soon." 

Armie nods, still staring at him. Timmy shuts off the water and steps out of the shower; passes Armie a towel and wraps one around his own waist. Leaves the bathroom while Armie dries off. 

_ Is he okay?  _ Armie catches sight of himself in the mirror: hair a mess, flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips.  _ I just had sex with a man.  _ The thought is strange, but not alien. Slowly, he smiles, watching his face change in the mirror. 

_ Everything's different, but nothing's different at all.  _

"Hey," says Timmy, from the other room.

When Armie looks into the bedroom, he can't help grinning. Timmy's sitting on the bed in his towel, eating a bowl of cereal. 

"Made you dinner too," grins Timmy. "Took me ages. Don't let it go cold." 

"Tell me you didn't actually heat up cereal." Armie takes a seat on the bed and picks up his bowl. "Oh good, you didn't." 

"Never say I don't know how to show a guy a good time." 

Armie snorts. "Everything I could possibly want, right here." 

Timmy presses his foot to Armie's leg, and Armie yelps through a mouthful of cinnamon cereal. 

_ "Fuck. _ How are you cold again already?" 

"Kitchen tiles." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Right. Okay. Think  _ I'll _ take the bowls back when we're done." 

"My hero." 

Armie gives him a look. "Cheeky little shit." 

Timmy grins. "I don't think you mind." 

"Don't you." 

"I think maybe you kind of  _ like _ me being a cheeky little shit." 

"Do you." Armie puts his hand on Timmy's knee; caresses it with his thumb. Takes his hand away again to finish his cereal. Watches Timmy drink the dregs of his, then takes the bowl. 

In the kitchen, he quietly puts the bowls in the sink and tiptoes back to the bedroom, trying not to disturb the puppies. Tim's in the bathroom with the door closed.

Armie finds his pants on the floor and digs out his phone; opens the message from Tyler properly. 

Tyler:  **hey Armie. I swear I don't want to talk about Liz. Just miss you man. Nick said he'd seen you. Let me know if you want to catch up soon - I can come to your new place. Haven't met the puppy yet either. **

Armie takes a breath. 

Armie:  **That'd be good. Let's do that. **

He knows it's indefinite, and barely a reply; but after weeks of keeping silent it still feels like a lot. He switches off his phone quickly, before he can get another message in return. 

Timmy emerges from the bathroom as Armie's putting his phone on the nightstand. He's wearing boxers but nothing else, and yawning. "Toothbrush's all yours." 

When Armie returns, Timmy's huddled under the covers. "You're planning to put your cold feet on me, aren't you?" asks Armie, as he climbs under the duvet. 

"Yup." Timmy presses both feet to Armie's shins. "Sorry." 

Armie hisses. "Fuck, Timmy—" he huffs a laugh.

They settle, Timmy happily curling as Armie's little spoon. Armie kisses his shoulder, and the nape of his neck; tender, considered kisses. 

"Mmm," Timmy hums, happily. "Don't. You'll make me want to come over there." 

"And  _ there's _ the age difference." 

Timmy huffs a giggle. "Uh-oh. Here comes your middle-aged speech again." 

Armie bites at his shoulder. "I'm glad it was you, cheeky little fucker," he murmurs, like a secret.

"I'm glad it was you too." 

Armie frowns slightly; presses his lips to Timmy's neck. "Hmm?" 

Timmy sounds sleepy. "First person I've been with since Léo. And at the end things weren't—we weren't really—" he half-shrugs. "So. 'S'been a while." 

Silently, Armie absorbs that.  _ I guess I hadn't really thought about _ — _ I was so wrapped up in my own dumb drama, I didn't realize he was thinking about the past.  _ "Are you—okay?" he asks, gently. 

Timmy's eyes are closing, but he turns his head, asking for a kiss. Armie obliges, stroking his stomach. 

_ They weren't really fucking, at the end? Because Timmy found out about the cheating, or— _

He tries to quieten his thoughts, laying his head on the pillow as Timmy turns off the nightstand lamp and settles back down. 

It's warm in their cocoon; and after a minute, Timmy's hand comes to rest on Armie's, pulling it to the center of his chest. Timmy's breathing lengthens, calms. Armie listens to it, tries to match it, and—without expecting to—slips smoothly into sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough for your wonderful comments. You are amazing, thoughtful, kind readers, and I'm so grateful for you 💕
> 
> I'm no longer in control of the boys, by the way. This is too long because they wouldn't stop. I'm just hanging on for the ride.

It's already eight o'clock when Armie wakes to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm, and for a moment, he panics.  _ Am I late for work? Archie must need to go outside— _

He opens his eyes, and remembers where he is, remembers last night. 

_ Saturday.  _

_ Timmy’s place.  _

_ Archie and Livs will need to go out, but not desperately.  _

He realises with surprise that he and Timmy are still curled together, though they obviously turned over in the night; he’s the little spoon now, with Timmy’s hand resting heavy and warm on his hipbone. 

_ Is he still asleep?  _

_ I never used to wake up still curled up with Liz. Or anyone else I’ve ever slept with, for that matter.  _

He feels his face flush hot as he realizes that Timmy’s hard against him. Timmy’s wearing boxers, but Armie had forgotten to put his on before he got back into bed. He remembers last night, remembers the shower they took together. 

Slowly, Armie disentangles himself from Timmy, and sits up on the edge of the bed; finds his boxers and pants and pulls them on, trying to ignore the way his cock tents them. 

Timmy makes a sleepy noise of waking, and strokes the base of Armie's back. "Sneaking out?" he mumbles. 

_ His voice is even deeper in the morning. _

Armie huffs a laugh. "Yup." He turns and strokes Timmy's cheek, flushed warm with sleep. "You slept." 

Timmy gives a shuddery little yawn, and nods. "See? Magic." He reaches up and rubs Armie's chest with his palm. "You're going to do the puppies, aren't you?" 

Armie nods. "It's past eight. Worried about Archie peeing in his crate." 

"Past  _ eight?"  _ Timmy says, grabbing Armie's wrist to look at his watch. "Huh. Fuck. Okay." 

"What time did  _ you _ think it was?" Armie half-shakes his head.  _ The fact that you don't sleep until eight normally, when you go to sleep in the small hours.  _

Timmy shrugs, the duvet bunching further around his ears. "Six, maybe?" 

Armie gives him a look. "Ridiculous." He makes a move to get off the bed and find his shirt. "You roast  _ me _ for not taking care of myself." 

Timmy groans, and starts to sit up. "I mean, I kind of thought jerking off occasionally was a human instinct. Or common sense. Take your pick."

Armie huffs a laugh and touches Timmy on the shoulder. "You don't need to get up." 

Timmy blinks up at him. "I don't mind—" 

Armie shrugs. "It's fine. You should try and sleep more." 

Timmy gives him a look that takes in every inch of him.  _ "Definitely  _ not." 

Armie feels himself blush. "Then I'll bring you coffee."

"My Prince Charming." 

"Wow, the bar for Prince Charmings has really fallen these days." 

Timmy snorts, snuggling back down under the duvet. "Crate the puppies with breakfast? Archie can have some of Livs' if he needs." 

"It's okay. I have some in the bag from Lena's." Armie pulls on his socks and sets off for the door. 

"Armie?" 

"Mm?" 

"Hurry back,  _ baby." _ Timmy says it in a faux-sexy voice that makes them both giggle. 

Archie and Livs try to bounce and play as Armie lets them out of the crates, but he bribes them as quickly as possible into their harnesses; grabs Timmy's keys from next to the kettle, checks he has bags, picks up Livvy, and makes his way smartly down the stairs. 

As soon as the puppies are done, he hurries them both back up the stairs. 

"That was quick," calls Timmy, from the bedroom. Armie can  _ hear  _ him grinning. 

"Well, with the right incentive…"

He bribes the puppies back into their crates with a bowl of food each, then fills the kettle for coffee. 

"Fuck coffee," says Timmy decidedly, from the bedroom, and Armie grins. 

"How am I supposed to get my Prince Charming stripes if you say 'fuck coffee' all the time?" he sighs, as he pushes the bedroom door closed behind him. 

Timmy giggles from under the duvet. Only his curls are visible on the pillow. 

Armie strips off his socks and pulls the duvet down to show Timmy's face. "There you are." 

"Cold," he pouts. "Kiss me." 

Armie grins and leans down to kiss him.  _ He tastes of mint.  _ "You brushed your teeth," he says, pulling back. 

Timmy pouts harder. "Where've you gone?" 

"Going to clean my teeth. Not being the only one with morning breath." 

Timmy tries to grab at him, but Armie evades him easily and shuts himself in the bathroom. He pees, then brushes his teeth, running a hand through his hair to try and sort out the mess it's in.  _ Really need to get it cut.  _

"Come  _ here,"  _ grumbles Timmy, when Armie emerges. "It's been forever." 

_ "Forever?"  _

"That's what I said. Also, stop wearing so many clothes." 

"I should've taken the puppies outside nude?" Armie pulls the shirt off over his head, and unbuttons his pants. 

"You should do  _ everything  _ nude." 

"Getting enough sleep makes you horny." Armie slips back under the duvet, still wearing his boxers. 

Timmy rolls into his arms immediately. "Pretty sure it's more that you're here." 

"And of  _ course _ you have cold feet again." 

"Of course I do." Timmy presses them against Armie's legs, and crawls on top of him, pushing him down into the mattress. He buries his nose in the crook of Armie's neck, inhaling deeply. "But you'll warm me up." 

Armie puts both hands in the small of Timmy's back, keeping him close. He wants to slide them down, inside Timmy's boxers, but doesn't want to seem too forward. 

Timmy kisses Armie's neck, his collarbone and shoulder; licks into the dip at the base of his neck. "Mmm," he hums, in satisfaction. "You are—too—fucking—much—" 

Armie nudges Timmy's cheek with his nose; claims a kiss. Runs one hand up Timmy's back to lay his palm across his nape, fingertips teasing softly at the side of his neck. 

They're both hard again, and Armie quietly enjoys the knowledge that  _ he's _ got Timmy like this—needy and wanting. 

After a few minutes, he rolls to the side and pushes Timmy gently away. Slipping under the duvet, he kisses Timmy's chest and stomach, retracing his path to the freckles he'd discovered yesterday. 

Timmy pulls the duvet up over his head too, watching. 

Armie runs two fingers down the center of Timmy's chest. Diverts to touch his nipple, then kisses next to it; brushes his lips across it, and licks. 

Timmy shivers. His expression is a mixture of curiosity, vulnerability and need. Licking again, Armie enjoys the little hiss of pleasure he draws from Timmy. 

"Is it okay?" Armie asks simply, finding Timmy's gaze. 

Timmy smiles. "Don't  _ stop."  _

Armie laughs, and explores the other nipple too; gets distracted by a new chain of freckles he hasn't kissed. Kisses every one, stubble grazing Timmy's delicate skin, eliciting a huffed little giggle.

Timmy's hand slips into his hair; combs through it, luxurious, lazy. 

It's warm in their duvet bubble; the only sounds are Timmy's hitches of breath and the soft friction of skin. Armie wants to stay here forever. 

He runs a hand down Timmy's thigh, his leg, feeling the way the hair changes: softer higher up, wirier lower down. Waits for some kind of reaction.  _ So different from a woman,  _ he tries, forcing the thought.  _ So manly.  _

Nothing comes—no fear, no rejection. 

_ I just want more. More of his body, more of him.  _

_ He is perfect in the ways that he's manly. I want them all.  _

_ I want—men.  _

He draws one finger down the center of Timmy's foot, and laughs when Timmy squirms, protests. Kissing his way back up that leg, he glances covertly at how hard Timmy is. 

His cock is tenting his boxers, pressed against the soft navy cotton. Armie finds that he really wants to touch. He reaches out and runs his finger down the length, and Timmy gasps, groans. 

Armie hooks his fingertips under the waistband. "Can I?" 

Timmy nods, and Armie pulls them down, away, off; places a kiss on Timmy's knee. 

Hesitant, he touches as he had before, then moves further down to Timmy's balls, too, a touch so light that Timmy huffs a ticklish laugh. Armie withdraws his hand a little, and Timmy grins; strokes his shoulder. 

"Just kind of—harder, that's all." 

Armie touches again, more certainly; and Timmy sighs slightly, cock straining. Armie wraps his hand around the base of it, and leans forward; part of his brain says _ you've no fucking idea what you're doing,  _ but he wants to try, anyway—

"Armie, you don't have to—" 

He looks up at Timmy; smiles at the look on his face. He's biting his lip, cheeks flushed, half-frowning. 

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to." Armie loves the way Timmy's cock twitches in his hand at that.  _ He loves hearing that I want this.  _ It feels like a piece in the puzzle of who he is.  _ I mean, I guess it's kind of an obvious thing that people generally find hot. But still.  _ "I'll stop if I…" he shrugs.  _ Freak out.  _ "You know." 

Timmy chews his lip; lets out a breath. "Are you sure?" He sounds tense, and Armie's chest tightens with the understanding of how carefully Timmy's controlling himself. 

_ Christ, he's twenty-one, and holding back like this. Looking after me.  _

"I'm sure." Armie waits a beat. "So. Quick guide to—all this?" he adds, lightly.

Timmy giggles, surprised, and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. "Dicksucking for Dummies?" 

"Please." 

Timmy laughs again, hand stroking Armie's hair. "Just—explore. I mean—I presume you've  _ had  _ your dick sucked and know not to use your teeth, so…you can't really go  _ that  _ wrong." 

"Wait, what was that?  _ No  _ teeth, you say?" 

Timmy punches him lightly on the shoulder. "Hilarious, hilarious dude. Truly. You are." 

"I know." Armie strokes slowly along Timmy's length, watching the way his eyelids droop slightly with pleasure. "You really want me to just explore? You can tell me what you like." 

"I will. It's just kind of hot watching you." He touches Armie's cheek. "Hey. Can I just—" 

Armie looks up, making eye contact. "Yeah?" 

"I mean it. Explore if you want to. But you don't have to get me off, you don't have to have me come in your mouth, and you don't have to swallow, okay? I'll tell you if I'm getting close." He gives a wry little grin. "Might be uh—really fucking soon that I tell you to stop. Again, it's—been a while since anyone did—this." 

Armie takes a quick, shallow breath.  _ Everything you're saying is turning me on more than I can actually deal with right now.  _

He absorbs what Timmy said for a second, then crawls up the bed over him. Takes Timmy's hand, and presses it to his hard cock through his boxers. "I want this." 

Timmy groans softly, and kisses Armie; licks his upper lip, touches the tip of his tongue. "I'm out of arguments. Self-control officially exhausted."

Armie laughs; kisses him again. "Good." 

Timmy strokes his chest. "I mean it though, okay? Figure out what you like, what you don't. I'm not going to push anything on you unexpectedly." 

Armie must have looked quizzical, because Timmy huffs an angry little laugh.

"One dude I hooked up with in college straight up started fucking my throat without warning. I nearly retched on him, and then I just left. If you haven't got enough manners to negotiate in advance you can figure it out with your hand instead." He shakes his head. "Fuck's sake." 

Armie takes a breath; presses his lips to Timmy's throat, his chin, the corners of his mouth.  _ Who the fuck are these thoughtless assholes you seem to have spent time with? Why didn't they see what they had? What kind of opportunity the universe had handed them?  _

Timmy rubs Armie's shoulder, then plays with the hair at the back of his neck. "Hey. Sorry. Still—kind of pissed about it." 

Armie hisses under his breath; shakes his head.  _ I'd like to punch that guy until he passed out. But I'd rather focus on being here with you.  _ "Don't apologize." He presses his lips under Timmy's jaw; kisses lower, slowly, down that pale neck, to his chest, and nipples, and stomach—

Armie feels Timmy's hands tighten on his shoulders as he settles himself between those long skinny legs. He bends his head to kiss Timmy's thighs, lips brushing soft hair. 

His heart is racing.  _ I'm going to suck his dick, and I'm going to do a bad job because I've never done it before—I bet after two years together Léo knew exactly what he liked, exactly how to make him come _ —

He takes a breath. 

_ Léo cheated on him. And Tim said they stopped having sex, near the end. So get a fucking grip, Hammer. Just explore, like he said. He's not even expecting you to want to make him come. So surely you can exceed those expectations.  _

He follows a couple freckles up to Timmy's hipbone; places kisses there, then inwards, in a circle around his bellybutton. 

Timmy giggles softly, and runs his hand through Armie's hair. 

Armie's not prepared for the way Timmy's cock reacts to the touch of his lips; straining slightly as Timmy gasps. He wraps a hand around the base of it, and places another kiss at the head—chaste, experimental. Kisses again, and again, along the length; buries his nose at the base, and brushes his lips against the delicate skin of Timmy's balls. 

“Fuck…” Timmy mutters, a plosive breath of sound in the quiet of their duvet cave. 

Armie smiles; gains confidence. Shifts his legs a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. He’s hard, desperately so; but too intrigued by the task of giving Timmy pleasure to bother with his own. 

He rests his hands on Timmy’s thighs, teasing the soft skin with the pads of his thumbs. Timmy wriggles, gasps. Armie places another kiss to the head of Timmy’s cock, then tries a tentative lick and—not wanting to tease too badly—takes the whole head into his mouth. 

It feels somehow more—bigger—than he’d expected. He brings his right hand to the base; his ex had always used both her hand and mouth when she did this. He can definitely see how getting Timmy’s full length into his mouth would take practice, and possibly cause choking. 

He licks his right hand, and wraps it around Timmy’s cock again; strokes once, then opens his mouth and takes Timmy in. Tries to take him a little further this time, negotiating angles and depth. 

“Shit, Armie…” mumbles Timmy. When Armie looks up, he’s watching, eyelids heavy, bottom lip bitten red. 

Armie smiles. “C’mon. Tell me how to make this better.”

Timmy laughs, shaking his head, curls a mess against the pillow and the duvet. “And miss out on you experimenting? You’re hot as fuck, Armie. This is— _ everything  _ you’re doing.”

“Tim…”

Timmy rolls his eyes, and groans. “I promise. I  _ promise. Listen _ to me. Watching— _ feeling  _ you try things out—” he sighs. “It’s just—working for me, alright? Maybe I’m weird and fucked up, I don’t know, but I’m good.  _ Really  _ good. Keep going. I mean—if you want to.”

Armie bites gently at Timmy’s stomach. “I want to. I just—want to make it good for you.”

Timmy buries his hand in Armie’s hair. “You are. You honestly are.” 

“But I’ve  _ had  _ blowjobs where it feels like it’s not really coming together, or it’s too slow, or not hard enough...it’s just frustrating as fuck.”

Timmy smiles. “Have you ever had someone who’s never given a blowjob before figuring that shit out by learning it on you?” 

Armie sighs. “No.” 

“Then take it from me. It’s hot.” 

“Should I be trying to take more of you? That’s better, right?” 

Timmy strokes his fingers through Armie’s hair again. “No pressure. Not trying to be like, uh, into myself or anything—no matter who you do it on, it always feels like a lot at first. If you use your hand, move it with your mouth…” 

_ He’s so patient with me. And no matter how nice he is, he must be pissed I’ve taken a break to discuss technique.  _

Armie licks Timmy's cock all over, making it wet.  _ There. Easier to move my hand and mouth together now.  _

When he takes Timmy back in, his lips meeting the ring of his fist, and tries a couple strokes, Timmy moans. 

"Shit, Armie.  _ Yes—" _

Armie remembers he can use his tongue, too, and experiments with running it around the head of Timmy's cock, as well as massaging as much of the length as he can with the flat of his tongue. He doesn't feel like he's found a rhythm exactly, but he's pretty sure he's doing better than he was at first—

He loves the way Timmy's stomach muscles tauten, the way his thighs tense with control. There's a place below the  _ V  _ at the head of Timmy's cock that makes him shiver and stifle a groan when Armie licks at it, so he does it again, then builds licking it into the slide of his lips and hand as smoothly as he can. 

Timmy's hand tightens in Armie's hair for a second, until he consciously loosens it again. "I—I might need a minute—" he gasps. "Just a minute." 

Armie pulls back. "Are you—is it—" 

Timmy huffs a little laugh, rubbing both hands over his face before he looks down to grin at Armie. "Told you it was working for me. You're—a lot, right now.  _ Fuck." _ He runs his finger down Armie's nose. "Come here." 

Slowly, Armie wriggles up the bed. He doesn't want to stop sucking Timmy, but Timmy hugs him close and kisses him, and he can't help kissing back. 

Timmy wraps his hand around Armie's cock through the boxers, and suddenly the extent of his own arousal washes over Armie, fierce, undeniable. He gasps, and shudders. 

"Fuck, you're so hard," murmurs Timmy, into the kiss. "You feel good—" 

"Stop," groans Armie, and Timmy pulls back immediately. "I want—to keep going—" 

"Armie…" Timmy kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek. "You don't have to. Let me take care of you—" 

Armie shakes his head, stubbornly. "I— _ want  _ to. You can feel how much…" he half-shrugs, unable to express himself properly. Presses his forehead to Timmy's temple. 

Timmy turns his head and kisses him softly on the lips. "I was getting kind of close. I'll have to keep taking breaks." 

"You could...not." 

"You don't have to keep pushing yourself." Timmy strokes his cheek, his jaw. "I'm having the best time." 

Armie rolls his eyes, and smiles. "Stop. I…" he tries to find the right words. "I don't think I  _ let  _ myself get very specific about—what I wanted, with you, okay? Before. But—I really want this. I mean it. Now shut the hell up, Tim." He seals his argument with a kiss, and Timmy groans into it. 

Armie doesn't wait for another answer. He kisses his way down Timmy's neck and chest; lays a chain of kisses across his stomach. 

When he takes Timmy back into his mouth, he thrills to the sound of softly-breathed repetition of his name. He marvels at his own response—he's so hard he wants to touch himself, just to release some tension.  _ I want this. Fuck, I want this—have wanted this—so much.  _

He concentrates, attempting to keep his movements smooth and coordinated, remembering to flick his tongue against the place that makes Timmy gasp, and trying out a tighter suction. 

Timmy's thighs are shaking, now, tense; and Armie wonders if he wants to thrust up, to push into his mouth. That feels like it would be too much for right now, but he's surprised to find he likes the idea for the future. 

"Armie, Armie stop—I need—a minute—" 

Armie swirls his tongue teasingly around the head, and pulls back. "I'm going to carry on." 

"I'm too close—" Timmy's voice is tight, his fingers dancing frantically through Armie's hair. "Just need to calm down for a second." 

Armie strokes his stomach. "I don't want you to. I want—"  _ I want you to come in my mouth.  _ "Please," he adds, sweetly, and smiles. 

Timmy giggles, the expression in his eyes knowing. "Flirt." 

"Does this still count as flirting?" 

Timmy laughs, belly tensing. "I don't even know. I'm a bit distracted, okay? Don't ask me to make sense right now." 

Armie grins. "Not asking you to make sense  _ at all."  _ He takes Timmy's cock back into his mouth in one smooth slide, lips meeting his hand, then moving them together. 

Timmy groans. "Armie…I'm—I can't—" 

Armie sucks and strokes harder, trying to make his point with actions rather than words, and Timmy huffs a helpless little laugh.  _ You win,  _ it seems to say. 

Armie's surprised by how much bigger and harder Timmy seems to get; his mouth seems suddenly fuller.  _ Does that mean he's close? It must.  _

"I'm—I'm gonna come, Armie—" Timmy's voice is a warning, with a note of  _ last chance to stop— _

Nerves and arousal kick in Armie's stomach; he feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Flattening his tongue against Timmy's length as he sucks, he finds again the place that always makes Timmy gasp; concentrates, tries to keep everything in sync, smooth and easy. He's amazed by the ache in his jaw, by the  _ size _ of Timmy right now— 

And then Timmy's moaning Armie's name, his fingers a little tighter in Armie's hair, not pushing down, not thrusting up, although Armie kind of wishes for both—

He's surprised by how his mouth seems to  _ flood _ with warm liquid; it doesn't seem like distinct spurts hitting his tongue. He keeps repeating the movements that had made Timmy come, watching the way Timmy's belly and chest heave, the way his back arches and his mouth opens, lips red and bitten and still silently forming Armie's name—

_ Fuck. Oh fuck. This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.  _

When Timmy whimpers pleadingly and rubs the nape of Armie's neck, he realizes it's time to stop; navigates pulling back, releasing Timmy's cock, wet and red, then swallows. 

_ Tastes fucking weird.  _

_ I swallowed his come. I swallowed Timmy's come.  _

He's so hard it almost hurts. He looks down; there's a small patch of precome on the front of his boxers. 

"Fuck, Armie…" 

"I love the way you say my name." He hadn't meant to say that, but he's glad he did. 

"Well congrats. You made me say it a lot."

Armie grins. "I did." He kisses Timmy's hipbone. "Feedback?" 

Timmy laughs. "Oh my god. Get up here you ridiculous asshole." 

"Well, that's nice." 

Timmy grins, and kisses him; Armie keeps his mouth closed, but Timmy nibbles his bottom lip, teases for entry with his tongue. 

_ He wants to taste himself.  _ The thought runs through Armie as a hot shiver. 

He opens his mouth, and Timmy licks inside, insistently, needily. "I need you," he murmurs, against Armie's lips. He pulls back; his hand cups Armie's cheek. "Can I suck you too?" 

_ Fuck.  _ Armie closes his eyes for a second, seeking after control. When he opens them again, Timmy's watching him carefully.  _ Does he think I don't want him to?  _

He nods. "I'm kinda…" he swallows. "That was…  _ shit, _ Timmy. I'm not sure how fast it'll be." He accompanies the words with a lopsided, self-deprecatory grin. "Turns out I really fucking wanted to do that." 

He feels raw with the admission.  _ I wanted to suck a guy's dick. I really wanted it.  _

_ I made Timmy feel good.  _

_ And he looked so fucking beautiful as he came.  _

"That's hot." Timmy grins, then shrugs. "Come in my mouth as soon as you want, okay?" He slips his hand under the waistband of Armie's boxers, and wraps his fist around his straining cock. Kisses Armie again, stroking him slowly. "You taste good." 

Armie huffs a breathless laugh. "You mean  _ you _ do." 

"I mean  _ I _ taste good on  _ you." _

Armie stifles a groan. "Fuck—" 

Timmy grins and wriggles immediately down the bed; pulls Armie's boxers down just enough to expose his cock and balls, and slides his length directly into his mouth. He manages to make most of Armie fit; takes the rest with his hand. Starts wet, spreading his saliva down into his palm, and setting up a rhythm. 

Armie closes his eyes; revels in the tight, hot pleasure surrounding him. Grins as he recognizes himself appreciating Timmy's technique, too.  _ Masterclass. Better learn for next time, Hammer.  _

He opens his eyes and watches, and Timmy makes eye contact. 

"Shit—Timmy—" Need lances hot and sharp through Armie's belly; pools there, threatening to overwhelm, a mounting wave of tension. "Too much—" 

He feels Timmy break rhythm for a second; pull back, and grin. "I said—" he kisses the head of Armie's cock, "—as soon—" he licks softly, swirling his tongue, "—as you want." He takes Armie again, in a long smooth slide. 

"You didn't mean  _ this  _ fast—" 

Timmy sucks with more force, tightening his lips and licking more intently. 

Armie gasps a laugh; struggles not to push his hips up into the warm heat surrounding him. Reaches down to tuck a curl behind Timmy's ear, as if his curls weren't hopelessly, irrevocably all over the place. 

Timmy looks incredible: eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks, lips red and stretched around Armie's girth—

Armie shivers and moans at the sight— _ I should look away, stop myself, stop looking— _

"Tim, fuck, I'm—I'm coming—" It's on him, suddenly, unstoppably; he loses the ability to think or speak another word, overwhelmed—

He feels like he's floating as Timmy wriggles back up the bed; as Armie opens his mouth to Timmy's kiss, and accepts the taste of himself. 

_ Floating.  _

_ Dreaming.  _

_ This isn't real, is it? Can't be. _

Timmy kisses the corner of Armie's mouth, his cheek, and slowly along his jaw. "Hey," he murmurs, into Armie's ear. "All good?" 

It's so ridiculous that Armie can't help starting to laugh; and Timmy presses a grin to his neck.

Armie turns on his side and kisses Timmy again, slowly, with luxurious intensity. 

They smile at one another, and Armie tucks that same curl behind Timmy's ear. 

"You're fighting a losing battle," Timmy laughs, shaking his head. "Told you it'd be a fucking mess after we showered." 

"What time do you have to leave?" asks Armie, frowning as he remembers Timmy has two shows. 

"Twelve to half past." 

Armie checks his watch. "Okay." 

Timmy smiles. "I'll make coffee, you release the beasts?" 

"I'll release the beasts, let them come in to jump on you, then bring you coffee." 

"You're having an attack of the Prince Charmings again." 

"Worked for me last time," says Armie, with a grin. 

Timmy rolls on top of him. "Devious plan, Doug." 

"Ugh, the worst." 

"Dear, sweet Doug." 

"The ancient Scottish fisherman." 

"You'll have to grow your beard." 

"You're ridiculous. I'm going to let the puppies out. They'll subdue you." 

"Pretty sure you can subdue me without their help." 

Armie bites at Timmy's throat. "Hmm. Sounds intriguing. Tell me more." 

"You're just so tall. And big. I end up wanting you to crush me." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Okay…" 

Timmy kisses him. "Never been with anyone much taller than me before. I like it. I feel cute." 

"You are cute. You  _ know  _ you're cute as hell." 

Timmy kisses him again. "I want to make breakfast together." 

"No coffee in bed?" 

Shaking his head, Timmy pouts.  _ "Together."  _

"You're cuddly after sex."

"I mean, I'm cuddly at  _ all  _ times." Timmy bites his lip. "Is that bad?" 

Armie gives him a look. "Don't be ridiculous." He draws his thumb along Timmy's jawline. "You're even cuddly in your sleep. We actually woke up still cuddled up." 

Timmy looks surprised, brows drawing quickly together. "Is that weird?" 

Armie smiles. "For me. Normally I end up kind of—claiming my own space, in the night." 

Timmy glances up through his eyelashes. "Did you mind?" 

Armie rolls his eyes, grinning. "Stop. I loved waking up with you, okay?" He pats Timmy on the hip. "C'mon. We'd better let the pups out." 

Timmy groans and lays his head on Armie's shoulder. "But—cold—clothes—effort—" 

"Coffee. Eggs. Puppies." Armie frowns. "Have you  _ got  _ eggs?" 

"Yup," says Timmy smugly, and Armie laughs. 

"Did you  _ buy _ eggs,  _ just in case  _ I stayed over and wanted to make you breakfast?" 

"Yup," says Timmy again, with a grin. "And rye bagels." 

"I like it. Bread compromise." 

Timmy kisses him, slow and sweet. "Mm-hmm." 

"Salad?" teases Armie. 

"Mm-mm." Timmy shakes his head into the kiss.  _ "Not  _ for breakfast, Doug." 

"Are you kidding? Doug never eats salad. Doug lives off canned beef and a tobacco pipe." 

Timmy snorts. "Sexy." He groans as Armie lifts him up and off. "Uhhh, okay, king. So _ this  _ is why you go to the gym." 

Armie gives him a look as he searches for his boxers, and starts to get dressed again. 

"You want to borrow a t-shirt?" asks Timmy, levering himself out of bed and taking new clothes out of his wardrobe. "Not that I don't love your shirt—" 

"Not to be an asshole, but—" 

"Alright, Muscles. I  _ have _ big t-shirts." Timmy throws him a large white tee with a squiggle of black embroidery on it over the heart. "Here." 

Armie pulls it on, and finds himself hugged fiercely from behind. He laughs. "Hey?" 

"Hey. Turns out I like you in my clothes." 

"Huh. Pretty sure I'd like you in mine." 

Timmy nibbles at his shoulderblade. "I'd like you out of them, too—" 

"You've  _ badly _ underestimated the recovery period of someone who's nearly thirty." 

Timmy snorts, and pinches Armie's ass. "Coffee, then." He grabs Armie's hand to tow him into the kitchen. "Release the hounds." 

"Guess I should take them outside again," says Armie, heading for the crates. 

"Let me." Timmy grabs his keys and goes to shove his bare feet into his trainers. "Only fair." 

"Also you want me to make eggs." 

"Also I want you to make eggs." 

Armie laughs, digging in the cupboard for the French press he knows he's seen. "Are you taking them one at a time?" 

"Thought I'd try both." 

"Daredevil." 

"Uh, I live on the edge." Timmy sighs. "Oh I  _ know,  _ Livs, too much crate, baby, far too much crate," he coos as he frees the puppies. They jump up at him, and Archie does a quick zoom around the kitchen, including a drive-by lick to Armie's foot. 

"You sure you're good with both of them?" 

Timmy grins. "I'll be fine." 

Armie sets the pan heating and beats the eggs; grabs his phone quickly from the bedroom and turns it back on. The first message that pops up is from Tyler. 

Tyler:  **Cool. Today? I'm good for anytime so let me know if you want to. **

Armie hesitates over the message, then clicks into it. 

Armie:  **This afternoon? 1?**

Armie:  **[map pin]**

By the time Timmy's back, the coffee's brewed and the eggs are nearly ready. Timmy and the puppies hit Armie in a pack, paws at Armie's knees and Timmy's hands sliding around his waist. 

Armie laughs. "Hi, all of you." 

"Hi." Timmy nibbles on Armie's shoulderblade through his t-shirt. "You look good." 

"Coffee?" 

"Mmm."

Timmy pours them both mugsful, adding cream slowly to Armie's until he says stop. Armie plates up their bagels and eggs. 

"You already put cream cheese on the bagels," coos Timmy, taking his plate. "Damn. I made a good decision, bringing you home." 

Armie huffs a laugh through a gulp of coffee. "I sound like a stray puppy." 

"Got enough of those, thanks," says Timmy, leaning down to scratch Livvy's ears, then tickle Archie's back. "No, Livs, down. You  _ had _ your breakfast already." 

They eat leaning over the counter, and Timmy nudges his hip and shoulder against Armie's; their arms brush as they eat, and Armie revels in every second of contact. 

"What're you up to later?" asks Timmy, taking another sip of coffee. 

Armie bites his lip. "I—invited Tyler over," he says, at last. "To mine. Meet the puppy, catch up…" he's adding detail because he's nervous. 

Timmy nudges their shoulders a little closer together for a second, but his answer is light. "Cool. Well, think of me, trying not to hurl with nerves twice in one day." 

Armie laughs, pressing his elbow to Timmy's. "You're ridiculous. You're an amazing actor." 

Timmy grins. "You say all the right things over breakfast." 

"Everybody loves a little morning affirmation." 

"Did I mention how hot you are?" 

"Not that I…hmm...I don't recall…" 

Timmy snorts, shoving Armie's shoulder with his own. "I think I did. Repeatedly. But hey. You are a very beautiful man, Doug." 

"Ugh. Doug's not a beautiful man. He's scarred and broken by a salty life at sea." 

Timmy finishes his last mouthful of breakfast and turns to wrap his arms around Armie from the side, hands sliding across his back and stomach underneath the borrowed t-shirt. He nuzzles his lips against Armie's jaw, inhaling deeply. 

Armie can't help grinning. "Alright there?" 

"Mmmf." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmmf." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Why do you smell so good?" 

"Pretty sure I don't. I'll shower again when I get home." 

Timmy's fingers tighten on Armie's hipbone for a second. He takes another breath, then sighs. "Yeah...I should get ready too. Thank you for breakfast."

"Hey, you bought it." Armie slides his hand along Timmy's arm, and turns his head to kiss him softly on the lips. 

_ You smell amazing too. And I love the way your hair fluffs up when you shower and then sleep on it.  _

Slowly, Armie collects his stuff; Timmy rinses the dishes and the pan Armie used to make the eggs.

Finally Armie coaxes Archie into his crate and shuts the door on him, then pulls on his shoes. "So. I should…yeah." He gestures vaguely towards the door. 

Timmy sighs, pushing up on tiptoes to wrap his arms around Armie's neck. "Have a good time this afternoon." 

Armie can't help grimacing slightly; he half-shrugs. "Yeah. I don't know. Maybe." 

Timmy kisses the corner of his mouth, then brushes their lips together. "Nope. I'm  _ saying  _ you will. For sure." 

"Wait, are you the wizard of  _ this?" _

Timmy grins and nods. "Yup. You give me sleep, I tell the future." 

Behind them, Archie yelps a bark as Livvy teases him with a toy through the bars.

Armie sighs and kisses Timmy's cheek. "I should go, before they wind each other up any more." 

Timmy clings on, demanding a proper kiss; Armie smiles and turns them, pressing Timmy gently against the wall, slipping his hand under his sweater, brushing his fingertips across the silky soft skin at the small of his back. 

Timmy gasps into the kiss as Armie teases his bottom lip with teeth and tongue, smiling, pulling Armie closer. "Wish you could stay." 

"Believe me, same." Armie kisses him again, soft and slow. 

"You could take me back to bed…" 

"Don't make this harder than it has to be." 

Timmy grins, and Armie rolls his eyes. 

"Leaving, Timothée," he says, stepping back. 

Timmy groans, but lets him go. 

*

When Armie arrives home, he lets Archie out of his crate and checks his phone. There's a confirmation message from Tyler, and something from Timmy too. 

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **you left your shirt behind. it's a bit big for me tho **

The picture makes Armie's breath catch. Timmy has Armie's shirt on, buttons undone, collar flipped up. He's holding the collar across his lips and giving the camera bedroom eyes. 

Armie:  **Holy shit Timmy**

Armie:  **Don't give an old man a heart attack**

Timmy:  **OLD MAN. FFS SHUT UP**

Armie: 😂  **Seriously though. Likely cause of death: Timothée Chalamet**

Timmy:  **don't die on me now. we're having way too much fun** 😉 

Armie smiles.

Armie:  **Break a leg. Twice.** 😘

_ Fun. We're having fun. And five weeks of fun is exactly what we both need.  _

_ So. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has been so slow—blame the UK election 😕
> 
> Thank you so much for your wonderful comments. I love and appreciate you all so much for taking the time to read and let me know your thoughts 💕

Armie cleans the apartment again, petting Archie to keep him calm as he vacuums. It's not that the apartment's particularly messy, but he needs to prepare himself for Tyler's visit. He's unaccountably nervous; they've been friends for years, but all the same his stomach twists with anxiety at the thought of seeing him again. 

_ It's not like I have to tell him much. Anything, really. Just catch up about the kids and Jacquie. I don't need to share what's going on with me.  _

His thoughts flash to Timmy; something in him aches to share everything that's happened, but he can also imagine all too well the fallout if it made its way back to Liz, to his mom— 

Unplugging the vacuum cleaner, Armie stops Archie from attacking the cord and distracts him with a quick game of fetch. He checks his watch, then the fridge.  _ Hope he wants salad. Guess we can order in if he wants something else— _

“C’mon Arch,” he murmurs, petting Archie’s ears as he passes him the chicken-flavored chewy bone he loves. “I gotta take a quick shower. Be good out here, okay?”

He showers fast, trying not to think about the fact that he’s washing away Timmy, washing away the traces of him on his skin. He can’t resist putting Timmy’s t-shirt back on when he’s done, because he wants him close  _ somehow, _ even if this t-shirt can't actually smell of him at all, because it was only clean from his closet—

He pulls the neck of the t-shirt up to smell the unfamiliar washing powder.  _ The smell of Timmy's laundry. Why do I suddenly want to do laundry with him? What the fuck is wrong with me?  _

Armie's just fastening his watch back onto his wrist when Archie gives a yelping little bark; and then the apartment buzzer goes. 

"Hey," says Armie, picking up the intercom handset at the door. He can see Tyler on the video screen, and he presses the button to buzz him in. 

"Growing yourself a mullet?" is the first thing Tyler says when Armie opens the door. And then Tyler's hugging him, expansive and enthusiastic and unstoppable. 

"Fuck you. It doesn't really look like a mullet does it?" 

"Give it a week." 

"Shit. I've been avoiding going to the barber." 

"Go. I mean, unless you love mullets." 

"Ugh." Armie thumps Tyler's shoulder one last time and lets go of him. "This idiot's Archie," he says, gesturing to the puppy, who's jumping up at Tyler and wagging so hard he can barely stay upright. 

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god look at this absolute  _ cutie,  _ look at him, look at his squishy little face, his stupid little paws, his waggly little  _ tail—" _ Tyler's on his knees, absorbing all the love Archie has to give. "You should've  _ seen  _ the kids' faces when I said I was going to see a puppy and they couldn't come with me—" 

Armie laughs. "Want something to drink? I have water, juice, soda—" Tyler doesn't drink anymore, so he won't offer him one of the beers he has in the fridge. 

"Water, please. Got ice?" 

"Sure." Armie makes sure the door is properly closed; walks to the kitchen and starts fixing Tyler an iced water with a slice of lime. "Here," he says, holding it out.

"Thanks." Tyler watches Armie pour himself a glass of juice. "Fuck. It's good to see you, Armie." 

Armie puts his hand flat on the counter; leans against it, finding strength in its solidity. "Yeah. You too, man," he manages at last. Guilt squirms in his stomach. "Sorry. That it's been—a while."  _ That's never been our deal. Tyler and I—we've always been there for one another, no matter what.  _

"It's okay." Tyler says it sincerely, and Armie knows that he means it. 

"How  _ are  _ the kids?" asks Armie. "And Jacquie?" 

Tyler grins, blissfully. "All gorgeous." 

Armie can't help smiling too. Tyler's transformation from arty wild child into family man is still strange to him, sometimes; but oddly natural at the same time. He and Jacquie seem to fit like pieces of a puzzle. "Good. Any big news?" 

"You asking if we're having any more kids?" 

Armie laughs. "To be fair, every time I've asked in the past few years, the answer  _ has _ been yes." 

Tyler grins, and proceeds to tell him at length about the children's latest milestones and his most recent painting commissions. 

"Want lunch?" interrupts Armie, after a while. "I mostly just have salad, but I can order in if you—" Tyler waves a hand. "Salad's good, salad's good. So I get up the next morning, right, thinking I've had weird dreams all night, get downstairs and I guess on the way I kind of vaguely noticed the baby gates weren't locked but I didn't  _ really  _ notice, you know? Not consciously—and I set the coffee machine going and then there's this little snoring sound from the sofa and it's Violet, right there, fast asleep." 

Armie, washing salad, turns to give him a look. "Shit. So she'd climbed out of her cot, come downstairs through two baby gates—" 

Tyler nods, grinning. "Fuck, man, when I realized I was just staring at her like...and then I texted Jacquie a picture and she's like, downstairs faster than I've ever seen—" 

Armie laughs. "Tell me you've changed the gates." 

"Yeah, yeah, of course we have.  _ I  _ can't open the fucking things now, though, and I'm kind of worried Vi'll just try climbing over them. She clearly could." 

"Jesus. I guess you'll have to go with floor-to-ceiling bars." 

"Baby jail." 

"Yep. You raised a Houdini." 

Tyler shrugs. "Clearly. River was never like this. Guess Vi's just smarter than him," he says, with a doting grin. 

Armie assembles their salads and pours out a bowl of food for Archie; makes him sit instead of bouncing excitedly, then lets him start eating as he and Tyler take a seat at the counter. "I need to see them all again soon," he says, quietly. "We could go to the beach or something, maybe." 

Tyler gives him a smile. "We'd all like that." He nods to Archie, who's already finished his kibble, and has pinpointed Tyler as his main begging target. "Can I give him some chicken?" 

Armie shakes his head firmly. "Absolutely not. I'll give him some later, but I'm not having him learn that begging at table works." 

Tyler huffs a laugh. "You're adjusting well to fatherhood, then." 

Armie smiles privately, his mind flashing to Timmy and their jokes about being dog dads. "Sure." He shrugs. "It's tough, but." 

"Nick said you're taking a class. I know, I'm sorry boy, but your mean dad says no chicken," he adds, rubbing Archie's ears. 

_ Of course Nick told them all that. Did he make a fucking announcement at the barbeque? Did he fill Liz in on how I was? My demeanor?  _ He wants to roll his eyes, but manages to control it.  _ Nick's a good guy, a good friend, but I was right not to tell him about Timmy.  _

Armie nods. "Yep. Sunday evenings. I keep meaning to give Danny a call about private lessons, though." 

Tyler nods. "Sure. That'd be good." His eyes say  _ we've all been worried about you. _ He seems to hesitate on the edge of articulating it. "How's work?" he asks, at last. 

Armie shrugs; exhales. "Just got through year-end. So." He can't think of anything else to say about it. 

Tyler watches him. "You sound as enthusiastic as ever." 

Armie huffs a wry little laugh. "Well. It's work." 

"That's not how  _ I _ feel about work." 

_ You don't have to make money,  _ thinks Armie. His treacherous brain adds,  _ but neither do I, do I? I could live a lifetime off what I've made already. Or actually take the trust money.  _

_ Fuck, no.  _

"I know." Armie sits back in his chair. He pushes away the flippant comments he could make, about it being like Nick's here, about constantly being nagged by all his friends. "I know I need to make a change, Ty." 

Tyler's eyebrows lift slightly. He finishes his mouthful of salad. "Yeah?" 

Armie takes a gulp of juice. "Yeah. Yeah, and I know I have for years." 

"When you left the Foundation, Jacs and I—" 

"I know. You thought I'd—make a change then. A  _ real  _ change." Armie puts his glass back down, and runs his hand through his too-long hair. "I—have been. Kind of." His throat is tight. "Nick probably already told you, but I've been going to therapy." 

Tyler's lack of surprise tells Armie everything he needs to know. He grins, rolling his eyes. "Jesus. Did Nick use a fucking loudspeaker to tell everyone my business?" 

Tyler grins too, and holds up his hands. "Hey, you told him." 

"I did. I did. And I should know by now." 

Tyler gives him a suddenly-serious look. "You know I won't—" 

"I know." Armie nods.  _ He won't.  _

"Not even Jacs, if you don't want me to—" 

"I know. Really." 

"I'm glad about the therapy." Tyler finishes his bowl of salad and puts down his fork with a definitive  _ clink.  _ "You know I go." 

Armie nods again.  _ Ever since rehab.  _ "I was a fucking idiot not to go sooner." 

Tyler shrugs. "Hey, if there's one thing I learned, it's that it has to be when you're ready." He hesitates on the brink of the next question. "And—Liz—"

Armie sighs. 

"If you don't want to talk about it—I'm sorry for—" 

Shaking his head, Armie holds up a hand. "Ty, Ty. It's fine. I just—did you  _ ever  _ see what you and Jacquie have, with us? With me and Liz?" 

Slowly, Tyler shakes his head. "You made sense." 

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly. We made  _ sense.  _ We  _ worked.  _ But I couldn't—I just couldn't quite—get beyond that, you know? Couldn't find anything  _ more.  _ And I feel like shit for not realizing sooner, not having the courage to—I mean, fuck.  _ Eight years. _ She must hate me for that." He plays with his fork. He can hear himself, his tone deceptively light. "But I didn't  _ know.  _ I didn't realize I was just—doing what I was supposed to do. What my parents always wanted for me. Work was Dad. And Liz—Liz was what Mom wanted for me." 

Tyler nods, and shrugs. "I get it. Believe me, I get it. I tried to drink them out of my head, but it doesn't work. You gotta face it in the end." 

"You know my mom's still been talking to Liz?"

Tyler blows out a sigh, half-rolling his eyes. "Great." 

"Have you talked to Liz about it?" 

Tyler half-shakes his head. "She asked, a few weeks ago. But I didn't know anything—hadn't even seen you. I think she thought I was holding back on her. So I'll just—leave it that way. If you don't mind." 

Armie shakes his head; rubs his eyes. "Thank you." He runs his hand through his hair again. "I know I need to talk to her. Explain—explain better, I mean. I just—when we—when I broke up with her—I just had to get it done, you know? Just needed to get out of there. Move on. But my mom's been muddying the waters since, and…" he shrugs. "She deserves a better explanation." 

Tyler shrugs. "You were clear with her." 

"I know, but…" Armie hunches his shoulders. 

"Don't feel guilty." Tyler says it firmly. "Everyone has the right to end something if it's not working for them." He takes a sip of water. "So are you—dating? Seeing anyone new?" 

Armie huffs a laugh, but doesn't know what to say; he looks away, down at Archie, and plays with the puppy's ears. He can feel himself blush. 

"You are." Tyler's grinning now, and Armie tries not to let himself grin too. His heart thumps in his chest as he thinks about kissing Timmy goodbye, pressing him against the wall, stroking the soft skin of his back. 

"You want to tell me about her?" asks Tyler, and Armie's chest aches with it.

_ Him. I want to tell you about him. _ He feels his smile fade. Slowly, he shakes his head. "It's—new. Really new. A few days." 

Tyler kicks him gently on the ankle. "You're blushing like a schoolgirl." 

Armie laughs and rolls his eyes. "Stop. Fuck. Why are all my friends like this?" 

"Unlike Nick, I won't tell anyone," Tyler laughs, but he doesn't press for more. He turns his attention to Archie, playing tug with him while Armie finishes his salad and washes the lunch dishes. 

"Well if you're seeing someone, you  _ really  _ need to get a haircut," Tyler says, teasing Archie by twitching the tug toy away across the floor every time he goes for it. 

Armie screws up his face. "Ugh. Might just buzz it myself." 

Tyler laughs. "Pretty sure you've got enough money to go to the barber, Armie." 

"Not enough patience," mutters Armie, putting the last dish on the rack and drying his hands on the dishtowel. "I hate going." 

"I'll do it if you want." Tyler's wearing the wild grin Armie recognizes from before his days of sobriety. "As long as you're prepared to go to the barber afterwards when I fuck it up." 

Armie laughs. "Do it." 

"Seriously?" 

"Seriously." 

"Now?" 

"Fuck yes. Please." 

"Never seen you with a buzzcut before, man." 

_ Timmy said he thought it'd look good.  _ Armie shrugs. "We're heading into summer. I'm up for it." 

Tyler blows out a breath; shrugs. "Cool. Let's do it." 

Armie laughs. He feels  _ free. _ Coaxing Archie into his crate, he leads Tyler to the bathroom; fetches the shaver and a chair, then takes out his phone. 

"Fuck. You Instagramming it?" 

Armie twists his mouth.  _ "No.  _ Just for me. Just—do it right down the middle. First cut." 

"No going back." 

"Good." 

"Shit." Tyler snorts a laugh. "You're insane." 

"Do it. C'mon." 

Armie grins as he videos Tyler buzzing away the central strip of his too-long hair; he cuts the first video there, then takes a few other clips as the shaving progresses. 

When it's done, he feels  _ lighter. _

He fetches the vacuum to clear up the mess on the bathroom floor. Under cover of plugging it in, he sends the first video clip to Timmy, with no comment or explanation, grinning to himself as he thinks about him seeing it when he comes off stage. 

Tyler leans against the doorframe once Armie's done cleaning up, watching as Armie looks at himself in the mirror. "It's not bad," Tyler says, admiring his own handiwork. "Better than the mullet." 

"It was  _ not  _ a mullet." 

"So close." 

"Coffee? Tea?" 

"Mm. Green, please." 

Armie lets Archie out of his crate again on the way to the kettle, and Tyler quickly engages him in another game of tug, and then fetch. 

"He's kind of getting fetch," says Tyler, nodding as Armie puts his tea on the coffee table. "Just not necessarily with the object I actually threw?" 

Armie laughs, taking a seat on the sofa with his cup of coffee. "Ha. Yeah, and getting him to drop the thing when he comes back…" he shrugs. "He's a bit better than he was a couple weeks ago though, so I have hope." 

They spend the next forty-five minutes catching up, Armie listening to all the news about their friends. Archie capitalizes on their stillness to jump up on the sofa and curl up between them.

"I'm sorry I haven't been coming to stuff," Armie says, at last. "I don't want to—you know. But I just…" he shrugs. 

Tyler shakes his head. "You know what I was like, after…" he sighs. "Only wanted to see Jacs. And you, after a while." 

Armie nods. "People mean well," he says, quietly. "But they just—ask a lot of questions. Want to know when you'll be back to normal by, you know? And I—" he hesitates. "I don't know if I  _ will _ be. I think I'm—making a new normal. I don't exactly know what I'll be when I'm done." 

"That's  _ fine."  _ Tyler pats Armie's shoulder. "Take your time." 

Armie takes a long, slow breath. "You're too good to me, Ty." 

Squeezing Armie's shoulder, Tyler rolls his eyes. "No. No fucking way." He rubs Archie's belly. "I should take off, you know. Jacs is taking Vi to this baby yoga class thing and I'm taking River to the skate park while we wait for them." 

Armie grins.  _ "Baby yoga?  _ As if Vi needs any more escapology tricks." 

"Ha. Shit, yeah. Now we know where she learned it." 

They say goodbye slowly, Archie reluctant to let his new friend go. Their hug at the door is fond. 

"Let me know when you want to go to the beach," says Tyler, as they pull apart. "Just us, okay? You and the family. No-one else." 

Armie nods, patting Tyler on the shoulder because he's not sure he can trust his voice right now. He raises a hand to say a final goodbye, and watches Tyler down the stairs, holding on to Archie's collar. 

Closing the door again, he runs his hand over his buzzed hair, the feeling unfamiliar to him. He remembers what he'd sent Timmy and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

He can't help grinning when he sees the number of messages. 

Timmy:  **fuck WHAT**

Timmy:  **omfg**

Timmy:  **oh shit you're actually buzzing it**

Timmy:  **I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST SENT ME THAT YOU ASSHOLE**

Timmy:  **where's the rest**

Timmy:  **that must be your friend tyler**

Timmy:  **jfc are you two day drinking**

Timmy:  **send me a pi** c 

Timmy:  **armie**

Timmy:  **you're not even seeing these omfg**

Timmy:  **ARMIE**

Timmy:  **i'm dying here**

Timmy:  **...armie…**

Armie snorts a laugh, stomach flipping with nerves and happiness. He flicks back through the other video clips and picks one from near the end, showing most of his head shaved. He sends that, then takes a quick selfie and sends that too. 

Armie:  **[video]**

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Sorry, Tyler only just left**

Armie:  **No we were not day drinking 😂 He's sober, so**

Timmy sees the messages almost immediately. 

Timmy:  **holy shit your eyelashes. your lips. fuck why would you do this to me when i have to go back on stage**

Timmy:  **fuck**

Armie drops onto the sofa, grinning so hard it hurts. He knows he's blushing again. 

Timmy:  **can i come over after work**

Armie's heart lurches. 

Armie:  **Of course. I'll make dinner if you like **

Timmy:  **fuck dinner **

Timmy:  **we're going nowhere except bed **

Armie bites his lip.  _ Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.  _

Armie:  **Ok so I like the buzzcut then **

Timmy:  **SO DO I **

Armie:  **Yeah? I couldn't tell **

Timmy:  **can't believe you teased me with this **

Armie laughs, ruffling Archie's fur. 

Armie:  **Sorry? **

Timmy:  **you're not sorry **

Timmy:  **and you'll be even less sorry later **

Timmy:  **i can definitely promise you that **

Armie:  **See, that sounds like a threat. But good.**

Timmy:  **definitely a good threat **

Timmy:  **i swear**

Armie:  **Do you have Livvy's crate?**

Timmy:  **it's at saoirse's so i'll pick it + pup up on the way to yours**

Armie:  **This evening's going to feel long. **

Timmy:  **tell me about it. it's your fault **

Armie:  **Is it? You're the one making threats/promises… **

Timmy:  **you started this **

Timmy:  **i have to get half-naked on stage and try not to think about you**

Armie:  **At least you have something to focus on**

Timmy:  **another selfie? Please **

Timmy:  **or two **

Armie bites his lip in disbelieving glee.  _ When was the last time someone just—wanted me like this? And told me so?  _

He takes a picture with Archie this time. 

Armie:  **[image] **

Armie:  **had to take about ten to get one where Archie wasn't moving ** 😂 

Timmy:  **GOD you're so pretty **

Timmy:  **archie's cute but you're cuter **

Armie:  **Do not think most people would agree **

Timmy:  **well if you'd rather take their opinion than mine… ** 😉 

Armie:  **I would not **

Timmy:  **good. because i'll be making my opinion very clear later **

Armie:  **Timmy… **

Timmy:  **if i get hard on stage i'm blaming you **

Armie:  **Hmm. Maybe I should come to the show **

Timmy:  **NO.**

Timmy:  **it's not meant to be that kind of show **

Timmy:  **that's for later **

Armie:  **Tease**

Timmy:  **a tease wouldn't deliver**

Timmy:  **whereas **

Armie:  **Oh my god. Go shine on stage and stop teasing me **

Timmy: ☺️😍✌


	16. Chapter 16

Armie's just finished making chilli when the apartment buzzer goes. He takes a deep breath, turns off the burner, and dries his hands; tries to run his hand through his hair, and meets only the soft buzzed stubble that remains. 

On the video screen, Timmy's looking down at Livs' crate, clearly talking to her. Armie buzzes them in as Archie circles him excitedly. 

"D'you think it's Tyler again, boy?" asks Armie, patting him on the side. "Think you're going to be even happier with who it actually is." 

Opening the door to Timmy, Armie feels the world shift a little under his feet, a wave of want and need washing helplessly through him. "Hey," he manages, as he holds onto Archie's collar and props the door open for Timmy. 

"Hey." Timmy carries Livs' crate in, laughing as Archie bounces irrepressibly around him. "Hi Archie.  _ Hi.  _ Yes, I've noticed you're here too." He bends down and pets Archie's ears. "You don't actually care about me, do you Arch? You just want to get to this one." He's full of that glow of frenetic energy he seems to have every time he comes off stage. 

Livs is clawing at the bars, trying to reach Archie. They press their noses together, licking at one another as best they can. 

Timmy straightens up and grins at Armie. "Where's his crate?" 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Hang on." He fetches it from the bedroom and coaxes Archie into it with treats; shuts him in. Makes sure the puppies can see one another, but not touch. 

When he stands up, he feels awkward, hunching his shoulders. "Good show? Hope it went—" 

Timmy steps forward and slips his arms around Armie's neck; presses up on tiptoes to kiss him slowly, deeply. "Bed," he murmurs, against Armie's lips. 

They can't stop kissing; Armie steers Timmy gently towards the bedroom, but it takes a long time because they keep pressing one another against the nearest surfaces—walls, doors, counters. Timmy slips his hands under the t-shirt Armie borrowed, touching his sides, his back, his chest. 

_ I can't believe it was only this morning we last saw each other. Feels like a million years.  _

Timmy gasps as Armie kisses his earlobe and steers him through the bedroom doorway, kicking the door shut behind them. 

"Fuck, Armie," he groans, pulling at his t-shirt. "Take this—off—" 

Armie raises his arms to help him wrestle it off, then grabs the hem of Timmy's hoodie. Pulls it and his t-shirt off over his head in one go, and reaches for the zipper of his jeans. 

Timmy grins and pushes his hands away. "Take yours off." His voice is deep and sure. 

Armie's breath catches. He obeys, leaving himself his boxers; not that it makes a lot of difference, since he's already hard and tenting them. 

Timmy makes a low humming noise and grabs both his hands; pulls him backwards onto the bed. "I like your room," he says, as they tumble into the center of it together. 

Armie laughs. "Yeah?" 

"It's relaxing." 

"You planning to relax?" 

"Nope." Timmy giggles and presses a kiss to the corner of Armie's lips. "Fuck, you look beautiful with your hair like this." 

Armie feels himself blush. "I mean—Tyler did it, so—" 

Timmy kisses him, softly at first, then more insistently. He pushes Armie down against the pillows, the mattress, rolling half on top of him. "D'you have lube?" 

Armie's heart lurches in his chest.  _ Fuck. Does he want to—I don't know if I'm ready—shit, I don't know if I want to be fucked— _

Timmy pulls back and looks at him. "Hey, whoa. I want to touch you, okay?" he curves his palm protectively to the line of Armie's jaw, stroking his bottom lip with his thumb. "That's a whole other conversation and not something I'd just…" he shrugs slightly. "Don't worry about that now." 

Armie takes a breath and turns on his side, curling towards Timmy. 

Timmy hooks his leg over Armie's hip and lays a chain of kisses down his cheek and neck. "Promise I'm not going to spring anything on you," he murmurs, returning to kiss Armie's nose. "Okay? We'll talk about that if you want to." 

Slowly, Armie nods. "'M'sorry," he mumbles. 

Timmy huffs a little laugh against his cheek. "Don't be ridiculous." He looks at the nightstands. "You sleep on  _ this  _ side, so…" he leans his full weight over Armie to check the bottom drawer. "Ha." He pulls out the bottle of lube in triumph. 

Armie laughs and runs his hand up Timmy's spine. "Detective." 

"Not sure I  _ want _ to be a lube detective." 

Armie's snort of laughter turns into a sigh when Timmy kisses, then licks his nipple. "Fuck…" he mutters. 

Timmy's fingers dance along the waistband of Armie's boxers. "Mm?" 

Breathlessly, Armie nods. "Don't you want me to…" he runs his hand across Timmy's hip, worn denim soft beneath his fingertips. 

Timmy shakes his head. "You first." He pushes Armie's boxers down, then throws them off the bed. 

Kissing Armie slowly, Timmy warms a palmful of lube. Armie gasps into the kiss when Timmy wraps his hand around his cock. 

Timmy settles himself happily on his side, head propped on his left hand. He watches Armie's face as he touches him, and Armie can feel himself flushing under the scrutiny. 

Timmy giggles and kisses the tip of his nose. "Don't you like me watching you?" 

An electric shiver runs down Armie's spine.  _ Fuck, I do. I love you watching me.  _

"You might like this even less," warns Timmy, with a grin. "Did you know your lips look even more amazing now, with the buzzcut? Fuck, Armie." He dips down for a kiss, slipping his tongue between Armie's lips, nibbling softly at the tender skin. 

Armie tries to hold in a groan as Timmy's hand tightens slightly, as he strokes a little more intently. 

"And your eyelashes…" Timmy hums softly. "Did you know they were all I could look at earlier, when you were sucking me? The way they look against your cheeks, the shadow they throw because they're so long." 

Armie shudders with the words, with Timmy's freedom and boldness in saying them. He wants to roll his hips, wants to move with the rhythm that Timmy's established. 

"Do it," whispers Timmy, in his ear. 

Armie's eyes flick to Timmy's. "Sometimes I swear you read my mind." 

Timmy grins. "You have a very expressive face, you know. You're not very good at hiding what you're thinking." 

"Well, there go my acting hopes." 

Laughing, Timmy leans in to kiss the corner of Armie's mouth, then shakes his head. "All that emotion. It's an actor's dream." 

_ All that emotion.  _

Armie struggles with the idea. He's never thought of himself as  _ emotional. _ By his dad's philosophy, men—aren't. Or shouldn't be. He gasps as Timmy kisses then nibbles his earlobe, still stroking him with a controlled but insistent rhythm. 

_ And by my mom's philosophy, men don't do this to one another.  _

"Hey." Timmy nudges Armie's cheek with his nose. "Look at me." 

Armie transfers his gaze to Timmy's eyes. 

"Hi," smiles Timmy. He slows his touch to a lazy, casual stroke, and Armie gasps a groan. 

"Tim—" 

"Mmm." Timmy grins mischievously. "Yeah, do that. Say my name." 

Armie snorts a giggle. "Timmy."

"Excellent." 

"Timothée." 

"Perfect." 

"Tim…"

"Mm-hmm?" 

"You've slowed down, and it's killing me. Timothée." 

Timmy laughs and kisses Armie's cheek. "Oh no." 

_ "Tease."  _

"Literally touching your dick, at this very second." 

Armie closes his eyes. "Yeah. _ Very _ slowly." 

Timmy huffs a laugh; brushes their lips together, then kisses across Armie's chin and down his neck. He makes his way to the dip at the base of Armie's throat, to his chest and then his nipple—kissing it, teasing the sensitive skin. 

"Fuck," whispers Armie, as Timmy tightens his grip and picks up the pace. 

"I can slow down again if you—" 

Armie huffs a laugh, groaning and running his hand up over his eyes and head, surprised again by the lack of hair to grip. "Oh, shit. What have I gotten myself into with you." 

Timmy kisses him. "I think you might actually be the most beautiful guy I've ever seen." He says it sincerely, without a hint of flattery. 

"Tim…" Armie murmurs, almost reproachfully. He can feel himself blushing.  _ What about Léo? Fuck, how can he just—say shit like that?  _

"Seriously." Timmy coaxes him into a kiss, and it deepens into something breathtaking. "Feel what you do to me," murmurs Timmy, pressing his hard cock to Armie's hip. "See?" 

Armie can hardly concentrate on what Timmy's saying now, pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. "Are you  _ training _ me to like compliments?" he asks breathlessly, giving Timmy a sidelong grin. 

Timmy giggles, and presses his lips to Armie's cheek. "I'm aiming for a full-blown praise kink, eventually." 

"Fuck—" gasps Armie. "I need a minute, I think—" 

Timmy moves immediately; he's on his knees between Armie's legs in a second, taking just the head of his cock into his mouth and continuing to stroke the length, hard and fast. 

"That is  _ not _ —giving me a minute—" groans Armie, half-laughing. He  _ feels  _ Timmy grin, then run his tongue slowly around the head of his cock. "Oh fuck, Timmy—" 

Timmy hums happily, and tightens his hand still further; his left hand smoothes across Armie's stomach, tracing a teasing line down from his hipbone. 

"I can't—" warns Armie, and Timmy grabs his hand; squeezes it. Their fingers tangle together as Armie starts to come, swept helplessly along on a wave of pleasure from Timmy's hand and tongue. 

He comes back to himself with Timmy wrapped around him, fingers stroking his belly, his chest hair, his collarbone. 

Armie slips his hand into Timmy's dark curls. "That was incredible," he says at last, voice rusty. 

He feels Timmy smile against his shoulder. 

"Come here," says Armie. "Let me—" 

Timmy shakes his head. He sounds a little hesitant when he speaks. "It'd be kind of…" he stops again. 

Armie peers down at him, but all he can see is that mop of dark curls. He shifts onto his side, facing Timmy. Touches his chin.  _ Look at me.  _

Timmy chews his lip, then glances up. "Okay, this isn't—I don't know why I—just…" he sighs. "You made, dinner, right?" 

Armie gives a rather confused huff of laughter. "Yes…?" 

"It might be kind of—hot. If you made me wait. A bit. Maybe. Until after." Timmy tips forward and presses his forehead to Armie's chest, and Armie looks down at those curls again in surprise. 

_ How can this be the same guy who seems so open, so free? Who seems to find it so easy to talk about sex, and pleasure, and desire?  _

_ But asking for something you really want, something closer to a need—that's not easy. _

"'M'sorry," mumbles Timmy, against Armie's chest. "I don't—say this stuff to people, usually, I just—with you—but that's dumb, this is dumb, I don't know what I was—" 

"Hey, whoa," says Armie, putting both hands on Timmy's cheeks and pulling his head up, demanding his gaze. "You asked me an incredibly simple thing, okay? I wasn't expecting it, but it's fine. It's good. I'm glad you asked. It makes me happy." 

Timmy bites his lip; nuzzles against Armie's palm. "Really?" he mumbles. His cheeks are warm, flushed. 

"Of course." Armie kisses the tip of Timmy's nose. "It's hot." He considers for a moment. "You want me to tease you? Or not?" 

Timmy's eyelashes flutter as he blinks. He nods.

"What word do you want to use that means stop?" 

Timmy looks at him. "You mean like a—safe word?" he asks, curiously. "You actually know about this stuff?" 

Armie half-shrugs. "Not really—I mean, I  _ like _ it, but if you're into it I'd need to research it better. With—it wasn't something—Liz was into. But before that—I kind of liked being a little dominant." 

Timmy takes a deep breath. "I—haven't done stuff like this before." 

Armie tries to quell the triumphant thought that flashes immediately through his brain:  _ Léo never gave you this— _

"I'm really glad you told me." Armie kisses Timmy softly on the lips. "Did you know I liked it? Or—" 

"You seemed kind of interested when I said about you subduing me, or not turned  _ off, _ anyway, and—" he shrugs, blushing. "It was just a joke, or meant to be, but I think I was kind of…I don't know. I wanted…" he trails into silence, and kisses Armie's wrist.

"I haven't tried it properly," says Armie quickly, anxious not to misrepresent his level of knowledge. "Last time I did this stuff I was young and dumb and in college, and probably a selfish asshole in bed." 

Timmy giggles, and the mood lifts a little. "I can't imagine you being." 

"You didn't meet me in college. Thank  _ god." _

Laughing, Timmy leans in to kiss Armie's neck. "Think you'd've put me off?" 

"Probably." Armie smoothes the pad of his thumb across Timmy's cheek. "Pretty sure I was a shitty dom, too. I always had a safeword, but that was about the extent of my etiquette." 

Timmy looks at him with wide, wondering eyes. "You seem so confident with it." 

Armie half-shrugs. "Not really? But…" he hesitates on the brink of a confession, thinking it through.  _ Say what you want to say.  _ "I—like thinking I could—give you something, maybe?"  _ I'm about a million miles out of my depth with everything we're doing, and I think—I could give you something, with this. Instead of letting you give me everything. _

Timmy runs his fingertips across Armie's chest. "I mean. So far you've given me shower sex and an awesome blow job, so. I'm not entirely sure I get you." 

"'Awesome'," says Armie, with a disbelieving smile. "I kind of have my doubts." 

Timmy rolls his eyes, then looks at Armie with that disarmingly simple hazel gaze. "You don't have to  _ give  _ me things in bed, anyway, Armie. You don't  _ owe _ me anything." 

Armie opens his mouth, and closes it again. Thinks carefully. "Why do you  _ always _ make me feel like I'm fucking my therapist?" he says with a smile, running his thumb lightly across Timmy's bottom lip. "I—think I often uh—made up for maybe not being as into it as I could've been with my ex…" he sighs, "...by trying to be  _ good.  _ Trying to make sure she…had a good time." 

Timmy lays his hand flat across Armie's chest, over his heart, and nods. "Do you think you're gay?" 

Armie takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "I  _ honestly  _ don't know. I think I'm still attracted to women, just—generally? You know? But—" he shrugs, helplessly. "I don't know. I spent so long trying to deny my attraction to men…" frowning, he caresses Timmy's chin. "I kind of feel like I can't trust my own instincts anymore." 

Timmy catches his hand and kisses his fingers. "It's okay. You don't have to know." 

"Why do you ask?" asks Armie, curiously. 

Timmy shrugs. "I'm technically bi," he says casually. "As far as I can tell. But when it comes to sex with a woman—I don't know. That's kind of how it feels.  _ Technical.  _ Like I'm a bit removed from it. Just—in my head, you know?" 

Armie kisses him quickly, then pulls back.

"What was that for?" asks Timmy, with a sweet smile. 

"I like talking to you." It's all Armie can manage to say.  _ I've felt alone with this for a long time. And you make everything feel so easy.  _

A complicated little expression flickers across Timmy's face, too fast for Armie to decipher. "I like talking to you too." 

Armie bends to kiss Timmy's neck; murmurs in his ear. "That's good, because what you  _ asked _ for was teasing, and what you  _ got _ was another essay on my inner emotional life." 

Timmy smiles and presses a kiss to Armie's cheek. "Don't worry. It was  _ very  _ sexy." 

Armie huffs a chuckle, then nibbles delicately at Timmy's earlobe. "So. Tease you like kissing and touching, or tease you like bring you close to the edge and not let you come?" 

Timmy's breath catches in a soft gasp. "That—that one. Close to the edge." 

"Mmm." Armie nuzzles Timmy's neck, then pulls back to kiss him. He trails his fingers slowly up Timmy's side, digging his nails in gently, just a  _ suggestion _ of pain—

Timmy groans and wraps his arms tightly around Armie's neck. 

Running his hand back down Timmy's body, Armie presses his palm to Timmy's hard cock through his jeans. "Mm. You feel good." 

Timmy shivers. "Sucking you…really gets me." 

"You know—" Armie dips his head to kiss the base of Timmy's throat. "I couldn't stop thinking about this morning. All day." 

"I know." Timmy arches his back slightly as Armie brushes his lips across his nipple. The soft little sigh he gives makes Armie do it again. "Same." 

Armie licks, once, then plants a trail of kisses down to Timmy's belly button. Kisses around it slowly, biting occasionally. 

Timmy puts both hands on Armie's head, running them over and through the newly-short hair. "You were such a tease with that video." 

Armie smiles and catches his gaze. "Payback for the shirt selfie." 

Timmy laughs, and Armie kisses his belly again, just above the waistband of his jeans. He makes sure to let his chin brush the hard length of Timmy's cock through the denim, but doesn't go any further. "Love your belly." 

Timmy scrunches up his nose. "Really?" 

_ "Really." _ Armie brushes his lips across to Timmy's hipbone, and licks it; digs his teeth in briefly, then soothes the spot with a kiss. 

Timmy shrugs slightly. "'M'not all toned, like you." 

_ You're perfect.  _ Armie catches both Timmy's hands in his; winds their fingers together. Crawls back up Timmy's body and kisses him deeply. "Dinnertime, Timothée." 

Timmy groans, arching his back and rolling his hips. His eyelids are heavy. After a few seconds, he nods. "Yes, Armie." 

Something about the way he says it makes Armie want to hold him down and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. He resists the impulse and kneels up, pulling Timmy with him. Passing Timmy his t-shirt and hoodie, Armie dresses again, languid and happy. He has to consciously try to remember that Timmy's still on edge, that he still needs him to be in control. 

He steers Timmy into the kitchen with a hand across the nape of his neck. "You good with rice, with the chilli?" 

Timmy nods, stirring the pot of chilli as Armie turns the burner back on low underneath it. "Smells amazing." 

Armie smiles, and slips his arm around Timmy's waist; draws him close for a second. "You want to let the pups rampage for a while?" 

Timmy nods again. He seems kind of out of it, pliant and soft. 

Armie takes his hand as he turns away towards the crates. "Hey, you." 

"Mm?" Timmy says, looking up.

Armie just pulls him close and kisses him, a brush of the lips first, and then a careful press. "You okay?" 

Timmy's smile is genuine and glowing, despite his seemingly tired state. "I really am." 

Caressing the nape of Timmy's neck, Armie smiles. "Good." He sends him on his way with a gentle pat to the butt, hearing a light huff of laughter that makes him grin. 

Armie cooks the rice, and Timmy leans against him, watching the puppies; occasionally intervening when they threaten to break something with their play-fighting, or try to jump up at the counters. 

_ Maybe he needs this,  _ thinks Armie.  _ After work. Especially after a two-show day. All that emotion, all that adrenaline, for hours. Maybe letting someone else have responsibility for when and how you feel good—I can see why that makes sense.  _

_ Fuck, how is this happening?  _

_ I must have done something right in a past life.  _

He takes out bowls; sets them ready for when the rice is done. 

"Spoon or fork?" Armie accompanies the question with a kiss to Timmy's temple. 

"Spoon, please. Hey, whoa, Livs, chill—Livvy, no—" 

"Put something on Netflix?" suggests Armie, ladling out rice and chilli. Timmy goes, immediately. 

It's  _ Parks and Recreation,  _ of course, and Timmy curls close to Armie's side as they eat their chilli. The puppies are tussling lazily over a rope toy on the floor. Timmy eats fast, clearly hungry.

"You normally have dinner between your shows?" asks Armie, curiously. He's filled with the desire to know more about Timmy's everyday routine, to be able to picture him and what he's doing at any given time. 

Timmy shrugs. "Yeah? Kind of depends. Sometimes I'm just—nervous about the second show. Don't really want to eat." 

Armie balances his bowl in his lap and strokes Timmy's thigh. "Today?" 

"Yeah I—didn't want to today." 

"You should have more chilli." 

Timmy finishes his bowl and nods. "In a while?" he asks, eyes hazel-soft. 

Armie touches his chin. "When you're ready." 

When Armie's finished too, Timmy takes their bowls to the sink and returns, curling across Armie's lap, against his chest. The puppies have run out of steam with their play-fight, and are chewing a toy each next to one another. 

Timmy shivers slightly, and Armie pulls him tighter against his chest, leaning back to grab a blanket from the back of the sofa. He tucks it around Timmy, and Timmy moves to lie down, his head in Armie's lap. 

"You going to fall asleep on me again?" he teases, stroking Timmy's belly. 

Timmy smiles, reaching up to run a finger along Armie's jaw. "Shh. I never do." 

"Hmm. Interesting. I seem to remember—" Armie laughs as Timmy's hand is suddenly across his mouth. "Oh, yep, okay, well that's one way to win an argument." 

He slips his hand under the blanket, under Timmy's hoodie and t-shirt, stroking the soft skin of his stomach directly this time; teases at the waistband of Timmy's boxers. 

"And that's another, I guess." Timmy's voice is constricted. He shifts, arching his back slightly, stretching further along the sofa. 

Armie buries his other hand in Timmy's curls, massaging his scalp. Eyes fixed on the TV, he conveys the impression of touching Timmy only absentmindedly. "Is it something you need?" he asks, after a while. He makes his voice calm, almost impersonal. 

"Mm?" asks Timmy. His eyelids are heavy; he seems to be in his own little world. 

"The play. Here, like this. Do you need it?" 

Timmy blinks, and considers the question. Scrunches his nose slightly awkwardly. "No. Not generally? Just—sometimes it feels like it'd be—easier. To let someone else decide for me." He swallows. "Mostly I don't think about it. Just—sometimes." 

Armie nods, smiling down at him. "I'm so glad you told me." 

"Do  _ you  _ need it?" 

Armie takes a breath; considers it. "Not that I know of. I mean, it really didn't feature with my ex, but…" he thinks. "It's kind of hard to disentangle from back then—I was such a dumb kid, I had no idea who I was or what I wanted." He sighs. "I think—in hindsight—a lot of it was not finding a connection with someone before I slept with them? Not really being that interested in them as people, maybe. If I think about now—I mean, if you're asking…no, I definitely don't  _ need  _ it to want to have sex with you." 

Timmy shivers as Armie's fingertips brush just beneath the waistband of his boxers again. 

"We never picked that word." Armie wants to call him  _ baby,  _ or  _ sweetheart,  _ or something to show him he'll be looked after— _ that'd probably be too much though.  _

Timmy shivers again. "I've never picked one before." 

"'Hazel'," suggests Armie. "Like your eyes." 

Timmy blinks; his expression softens, then turns mischievous. "Wait. So you don't  _ normally  _ say 'hazel' during sex?" 

Armie laughs. "You do?" 

"My most commonly used word, of course." 

Armie strokes the curve of Timmy's ear with his thumb. "Ridiculous." 

"You don't mind me being ridiculous." 

"Don't I?" 

"No." 

"Oh good." Armie smoothes Timmy's curls back from his face, and tucks the fingers of his other hand just a couple of millimeters further under the waistband of Timmy's boxers. 

Timmy gives a soft little sigh, and presses his face to Armie's stomach. "Armie…" he whispers, and his cheeks are flushed with need. 

Armie strokes Timmy's hair, but doesn't reply; he looks at the TV instead. After a minute, he slips the button of Timmy's jeans undone, and then the fly. 

_ Fuck, he's so hard. _ Timmy's cock, still clad in boxers, presses through the fly immediately. 

Teasingly Armie draws his fingers along the length, too gently for the friction to matter through the fabric. Timmy's hips hitch slightly, but he controls the movement and makes only a quiet little whimpering noise. 

_ Shit, he sounds good. Does he prefer to be told off, or praised? Or some combination of the two? Should I ask? Will he know, if he's never done this before?  _

_ Get it all clear now. Practice good etiquette.  _

"D'you know what you'd like to hear?" he asks, gently. He wants to break the illusion of his control as little as possible. 

Timmy's eyelashes flutter, and his nose scrunches slightly in confusion. 

"Praise?" asks Armie. "Censure?" 

Timmy smiles at the word, at its old-fashioned sound. "I like that," he murmurs. "I like that you said it that way." He scrunches his nose again. "I mean—I don't  _ know?  _ But—given I'm a theater kid…" he grins self-deprecatingly. "Try praise." 

Armie laughs at the mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You're funny." 

"It begins." 

Laughing again, Armie strokes one finger along Timmy's cheekbone. "It does." 

He buries his right hand in Timmy's curls again, and tugs slightly; rings thumb and forefinger around the head of Timmy's cock, still not moving the boxers out of his way. "You've been so good for me so far," he murmurs. "Barely made a sound. Think you can keep it that way?" 

Breath catching, Timmy nods. He looks about to reply, but bites his lip instead. 

"Of course you can speak if you want me to stop," murmurs Armie. "Use your word and I'll stop immediately, okay? No questions asked. I'm right here." 

Timmy shivers just a little, eyelids drooping. 

_ He likes to be told that I have him. That he's safe.  _ Armie thrills with the clue, with the knowledge he's gleaning. 

_ Maybe after what Léo did, it's good to trust someone.  _

Armie focuses his eyes on the TV, though if asked, he wouldn't have a clue what's happening onscreen. He palms Timmy's cock, still through the boxer fabric, and thrills as he feels him squirm but control the movement. The heel of his hand against the head, he massages more insistently, tiny movements that hardly disturb the blanket. 

Timmy presses his lips together and shifts his head in Armie's lap; arches his back just a little, then relaxes. Turns his head to press his face against Armie's stomach. There's a tiny frown between his brows, and Armie wonders how close he actually  _ is.  _

_ Kind of hard to tell without touching him properly.  _

Armie tugs gently on those curls again, and Timmy clearly likes that; he rolls his hips, and stifles a broken little gasp. His eyelashes flutter against his flushed, hectic cheeks. 

Armie does it just a little harder. 

Slipping his hand under the waistband of Timmy's boxers, he palms him properly this time, skin to skin. 

There's what should be a moan in Timmy's throat, but he bites it back. 

"Good," murmurs Armie.  _ Good boy,  _ he wants to say.  _ Too much? Too weird?  _

Timmy takes a shaky breath, pressing his cheek more firmly to Armie's belly. His expression is both blissed-out and overwhelmed. 

_ He needed this,  _ Armie realizes.  _ He needed this, and maybe he knew how much, or maybe he didn't.  _

"That's so good, Tim. You're being so good for me." Armie makes a loose fist around Timmy's cock and strokes him, once. "Think you can manage this too—" he cuts himself off.  _ Baby. I keep wanting to call him baby. Way too fucking soon.  _ "Yeah? This is easy for you, isn't it? My clever boy." 

_ Shit. Well, there it is: 'boy'.  _

Timmy takes a ragged breath, and blinks his eyes half-open; they are a kaleidoscope mix of grateful pleasure and supplication. 

Armie cocks an eyebrow in question.  _ Yes? No? Good? Bad?  _

Timmy's lips part softly in a silent sigh.  _ Yes,  _ say his eyes.  _ Good.  _

Armie smiles and strokes him, though not tightly enough to provide real relief. 

Timmy's eyelids flutter closed again, and he presses his face to Armie's stomach. Armie can hear the way Timmy's breath catches with every movement of his hand. 

"Good. That's so good. That's perfect, Tim." 

Armie flicks his gaze to the puppies; they're both asleep under the coffee table, Archie with his head on his paws, Livvy stretched out on her side. Fixing his attention on the TV, Armie tries to give the impression of immersion in the show. In reality all he can hear is Timmy's breathy little sighs. He watches the fine play of expression across Timmy's face, caught up in the delicate beauty of those lips, that jawline—

_ How stupid Léo was to let him go.  _

Timmy nearly moans; he puts his hand across his mouth instead, and arches his back. 

"You want to move your hips?" murmurs Armie. "You want to fuck my hand? Just nod, if yes. No words." He stops moving his hand. 

Quickly, Timmy nods. His eyes are just a little open, and he's watching Armie closely, eagerly, an edge of desperation in the way he bites his lip. 

"You've been good, so you can. But I'll tell you when to come, okay? Not before I say you can." 

Timmy sighs, eyelids drooping in pleasure. He nods again. 

Armie resumes stroking Timmy's cock; and this time Timmy rolls his hips, tentatively at first but with growing confidence—

"Good. That's  _ good, _ my clever boy—" 

Timmy shivers, and rolls his hips harder. 

_ Does he need lube?  _ wonders Armie.  _ I don't want to hurt him, but I don't want to break the scene.  _

Suddenly Timmy's hand is on Armie's arm; he swallows a groan, almost panting, biting his bottom lip so hard Armie expects to see blood. 

Armie stills his movements.  _ No safe word, but he's clearly close.  _ "Good boy. Good boy for telling me. Are you close?" 

Timmy nods, his cheeks flushing a still deeper pink. 

Armie gently pulls Timmy's hair. "Come with me." 

Timmy follows him to the bedroom as if in a dream, and Armie slips his arm around his waist, guiding him gently. 

When Timmy lies down, Armie smiles at him; kneels over him on all fours and kisses him softly on the lips, in the center of the chest. Lies down next to him, and slips his fingertips under the waistband of Timmy's boxers. "You need lube?" he murmurs. 

Silently, Timmy shakes his head. 

"Sure? You can use your words." 

Timmy's eyelashes flutter. "I—I like it," he whispers. "Like it was." He takes a shuddery breath. "I'm—I think I'm really close, Armie—I don't—think it'll take—" 

Armie smoothes the line between Timmy's brows with his thumb. "That's good—"  _ baby. Fuck, I need to stop with that.  _ "That's good, Tim. You can come for me, okay?" 

Timmy shivers, then nods. 

"Shush now. Think you can stay quiet for me?" 

Eyes bright green slivers, Timmy nods once more. 

Armie slips his hand into Timmy's boxers and wraps his hand around his straining cock; starts to stroke. "Good boy. Perfect." 

Tentatively, Timmy rolls his hips; and Armie rewards him with a slightly harder touch. 

Pressing his face to Armie's chest, Timmy gasps softly. There's a stifled moan in his throat, and he's frowning. 

_ He's trying to keep control,  _ thinks Armie, and the thought runs through him like electricity. He realizes he's hard again.  _ Fuck. Third time today.  _

_ He fucks me up.  _

"Let go, Timothée," he murmurs. "Come for me." 

Timmy bites his bottom lip; rolls his hips into Armie's fist. And then he's shaking, fully clothed, silently mouthing Armie's name—

It takes a long time, and when it's over Timmy rolls into Armie's embrace, soft and pliant.

Armie extracts his hand from Timmy's boxers and wipes it on the sheet. Holds him protectively close, stroking his back. 

After a few minutes he murmurs, "c'mon—"  _ baby,  _ "—Tim. Come with me. Come on." Gently, Armie takes Timmy's hands; pulls him up to sit, and then to the edge of the bed. Walks him to the bathroom. Strips them both, kneeling to help Timmy out of his jeans and ruined boxers. 

In the shower Timmy lets Armie wash him, leaning back against his chest. When he realizes Armie's hard, he makes to touch, slowly, dreamily. 

Armie smiles and kisses him; catches his hand. "Tomorrow." 

He dries Timmy gently, and lends him his toothbrush. By the time he emerges from the bathroom after brushing his own teeth, Timmy's curled up under the duvet, curls dark against the pillow. 

Slowly, Armie pulls his own clothes back on; takes Timmy's boxers to the washing machine and sets them on a fifteen-minute wash. Wakes the puppies and takes them downstairs. 

He tidies up the kitchen as he waits for the washing machine to finish. Puts the remaining chilli away in the fridge, and tempts the puppies into their crates with a few bits of kibble each. Takes Timmy's boxers to the bathroom and hangs them over the heated towel rail. 

When he climbs into bed, Timmy sighs and smiles without opening his eyes; rolls closer, plastering himself down Armie's side. 

_ I wonder if he knows it's me,  _ thinks Armie as he slips into sleep.  _ Or does he think it's Léo, from a happier time? _


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your beautiful, thoughtful, kind comments. I appreciate you so much for reading. Happy New Year ❤️

"Did you wash my boxers?" asks Timmy, burrowing against Armie's side. 

Armie groans, not opening his eyes. "Hmm?" 

"I got up to pee, and my boxers are on the towel rail." 

Armie rolls over, turning Timmy with him to be his little spoon. "Mm. Fifteen-minute wash. Do I need to take the puppies out?" he mumbles.

"Done it, though neither of them seemed that bothered. Guess you took them out really late?" 

"Not sure what time, but after…" Armie presses his lips between Timmy's shoulderblades. 

"Must've been after two." 

"W'time is it now?" 

"Eight." Timmy kisses Armie's wrist. "Go back to sleep."

_ "You  _ go back to sleep." 

"Stop talking to me then." There's a smile in Timmy's voice. Then he presses back against Armie, wriggling his hips. "You stopped me getting you off in the shower last night." 

"You were so out of it," says Armie softly. "I just wanted to get you to bed." 

Silently, Timmy kisses Armie's wrist again. "Don't think I told you how good it was," he mumbles. "But—fuck. Yeah." 

Armie's heart skips. He kisses between Timmy's shoulderblades again. "Sleep—"  _ baby,  _ "—Tim. You need it. You've only had a few hours." 

"So've you." 

"Don't wiggle your ass against me then." 

Timmy giggles. "You spooned me…" 

"I know, I know." Armie brushes his lips along the sharp line of Timmy's shoulderblade. "Now shush, you." 

"Mm, you know I love it when you—" 

"Timothée Hal Chalamet—" 

Timmy giggles and kisses Armie's palm, then huffs into silence against the pillow. Armie slips back into sleep, listening to his breathing. 

It's a couple hours later that he wakes, worrying immediately about Archie—

_ Timmy,  _ he thinks, as he realizes there's no warm, slim body pressed against him, or—opening his eyes—in bed with him either. 

_ Shit, did he leave?  _

He turns over and quickly grabs his phone; there's a message and a missed call from his mom, some suggested beach dates from Tyler, and a text from Nick, but no 'sorry, I had to leave' message from Timmy. 

He pulls on boxers, jeans, and a navy t-shirt from his closet. When he opens the bedroom door, he's engulfed by a wave of two jumping, wagging, wriggling puppies—

"Hey," smiles Timmy, looking up from the kitchen. "You were meant to stay asleep a while longer." 

Armie laughs. A bubble of relief and happiness bursts in his chest.  _ He's still here. _ "Yeah?" 

Timmy nods. He's wearing boxers and the t-shirt he'd lent Armie the day before, one foot balanced atop the other. "I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. Well, coffee and toast. I figured you didn't even want to  _ try  _ my attempt at eggs." 

Armie walks to him and slips his arms around Timmy's waist. "You took your t-shirt back," he murmurs, against the soft skin of Timmy's neck. 

"Not for good," smiles Timmy, reaching back and stroking Armie's short hair. "And  _ you  _ put pants on." 

"Haven't you  _ felt _ those sharp puppy claws up your legs?" 

Timmy huffs a laugh. "Saw you bought Nutella." 

Armie feels himself blush. He presses his forehead to the back of Timmy's head. "Figured you might stay for breakfast sometime. So." 

Timmy turns his head and catches Armie's lips in a kiss. "You want some on your toast?" 

Armie grimaces. "No thanks, French boy." 

Grinning, Timmy turns further to bite Armie's shoulder. "Asshole. Fine. What  _ do  _ you want?" 

Armie steps away and opens the fridge. "I have apricot jam." 

"You sound very proud of it." 

"I am. It's my favorite." 

Timmy smiles. "Well. Now I know. Get back here please." 

Armie has to suppress a sigh of relief as he wraps himself around Timmy again. "You thinking we'll eat like this?" 

"I mean. Ideally." 

Armie just busies himself with kissing Timmy's neck, finding every freckle. 

"Don't make me drag you back to bed." Timmy's voice has a husk to it, deep and a little rough. 

"We can't," grins Armie. "We've been crating the puppies to have sex for days." 

"I know, I know." Timmy's tone is a long-suffering sigh. "Dog park today? Let them run around, wear themselves out, and then…" 

"...and  _ then  _ you're dragging me back to bed?" 

"You know it." 

"Hmm." Armie pulls himself up to sit on the counter, taking the cup of coffee Timmy hands him. He shrugs. "I can work with that." 

Timmy grins and puts a plate of toast with apricot jam down next to Armie. Moving to stand between Armie's legs, Timmy rubs his thighs, and the touch makes Armie shiver. 

"You should try just a  _ bite  _ of my Nutella." Timmy holds the toast up to Armie's lips. 

Armie turns his head away, grinning. "Too sweet." 

"You've literally got jam on yours! It's  _ made  _ of sugar." Timmy takes a big bite of Nutella toast and hums satisfaction. "Oh my god. You can't  _ not  _ love Nutella. Please. So we can carry on fucking. Armie. Tell me this." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Alright, alright. I can't have it in the house. I end up eating it off the spoon." 

"Wait, you use a  _ spoon? _ Fancy." 

"Okay, now I'm just imagining you licking it out the jar—" 

"Dirty." 

Armie pokes him in the ribs. "So. Yeah. Nutella's bad for me.  _ Especially  _ right after year-end." 

"Oh my  _ god."  _ Timmy slips his hand under Armie's t-shirt and pulls it up a little. Bends down to kiss Armie's stomach. "Seriously, Armie. You're perfect. Shut the fuck, dude." 

Armie hunches his shoulders and rolls his eyes. "Shh." 

_ "Armie."  _ Timmy puts his hand on the base of Armie's neck; runs it down to the center of his chest, and gives him a little shove. "If you were using Grindr you literally wouldn't spend a night alone. In fact you could probably fill your afternoons, too. Only fair to tell you," he says, with a mischievous little grin. 

Armie's just about to roll his eyes again when Timmy blushes red. 

"Uh—I mean—not that—you could be—" he looks down, biting his bottom lip. 

Armie's heart turns over in his chest.  _ So he definitely doesn't think we're exclusive.  _

_ Fuck, of course he doesn't. It's only been a few days.  _

_ Get a fucking grip, Hammer. He just got out of an important relationship.  _

_ So did you. Remember? _

"Not really my style," Armie says, as lightly as he can manage. "Nick's always bugging me to try Tinder, but I don't know." He shrugs. "I kind of hate the idea." 

Timmy looks up at him through his eyelashes. "I hated Grindr.  _ Hated  _ it." 

_ Please just—don't use it again. I'll do anything you want.  _

"I—used to use it, in college," says Timmy, looking away again. He sounds like he's clarifying something. "Before—" he shrugs. 

_ Before Léo.  _

_ What must it be like, to have had a relationship like that? Someone who permanently divides your life into a before and an after?  _

Armie swallows, and picks up his coffee mug. "I'd rather meet someone naturally," he manages, at last. 

Timmy's eyes are a flash of intense hazel through his lashes. He reaches for another slice of toast and Nutella. 

"Dog park, today?" asks Armie. 

Timmy nods, then leans in to rest his head against Armie's chest. "And  _ puppy school,"  _ he groans reluctantly. 

Armie chuckles, bending his head to kiss Timmy's neck. "Your least favorite time of the week." 

Timmy nods, craning his neck to the side to expose more skin to Armie's lips. "It feels like high school," he whines. "Being tested on shit I hated for no good reason." 

"Tell me about it," murmurs Armie, pressing his lips under Timmy's jaw. "And business school. And—life." 

Timmy puts his toast down and digs his fingernails into Armie's thighs. "Quit. The fucking. Job. Armie." 

Armie hisses at the crescents of pain biting through his jeans. 

"Shit, did I hurt you?" 

"Yes. Do it again," murmurs Armie, and Timmy laughs. 

He rubs Armie's thighs in apology. "Seriously. It'd be good, right? Take an acting class, live off some of the money you've made. Do what you really want to do." 

Armie takes a gulp of coffee, staring down at Timmy's hands on his thighs. "I don't know. I've always been afraid of my own…" he hesitates. "I've always worked because it meant…I wasn't just taking my parents' money," he says, quickly. "I'm kind of...afraid to stop. I might just—never start again. Get lazy. Not bother." 

Timmy grins. "I'll kick your ass." 

"Even if I quit tomorrow, I have four weeks' notice," says Armie, without thinking.  _ You'll be gone by the time any ass-kicking's needed.  _

Timmy's expression flickers. The words seem to cut a rift in the air between them. 

_ Fuck.  _

Armie tries to ignore his quickly-beating heart. He swallows, and reaches for Timmy. Slides his hand along that cut-marble jaw. "Guess you could kick my ass on FaceTime though." 

Timmy blinks and, slowly, smiles. "Sure I can. I'm talented like that." 

"Hmm," returns Armie wryly, pulling Timmy in and kissing him softly on the lips. "Archie  _ no. Off.  _ Not your Nutella, buddy." 

Disappointed, Archie takes his paws off Timmy's leg and sits, staring up at them with pleading eyes. Both Armie and Timmy chuckle. 

"Look, he's trying a sit now." 

"Yeah, to see if we'll  _ willingly _ feed him the toast with a substance toxic to dogs on it." Armie rolls his eyes. "Jesus. Why are they like this." 

Timmy grins and pushes their plates further towards the center of the counter. "Do you have therapy Tuesday?" 

Armie looks at him with surprise. "Yeah. What made you think of that?" 

"You had it Tuesday last week. If you want me to look after Archie, I can." 

Armie kisses the tip of his nose. "After work hours this week, so it'll be when you're getting ready for work. He's booked with the sitter. But thank you." 

"You didn't kiss my nose when I offered last week." 

Armie grins. "Wanted to, though." 

"Yeah?" 

"And...various other things." Armie nuzzles Timmy's neck. 

"Like?" 

"Here." Armie kisses Timmy's earlobe. "And  _ here."  _ He pulls the neckline of Timmy's t-shirt down and kisses the dip at the base of his neck. Cupping Timmy's face, he adds, "and every—single—freckle—" 

"You always go after my freckles." 

"They're hot." 

"You're weird." 

_ Don't tell me no-one's been obsessed with your freckles before,  _ Armie's about to say—but he decides he doesn't want to hear about it. 

_ Maybe no-one else has kissed every single one before. Five weeks. Well, less than five weeks now. Four. I can kiss every one of his freckles before he leaves.  _

"I'll find them all," he murmurs into Timmy's ear. "And kiss them all." 

Timmy's hands slide slowly up Armie's thighs. "Yeah?" He leans in and licks Armie's bottom lip. "Some of them are in  _ very _ inaccessible places." 

Armie grins. "Oh. Good." Then, "how do  _ you _ know?"

Giggling, Timmy shrugs. "I'm just assuming. I have a lot." 

"Assuming's not good enough. We need to map them." 

"So  _ that's _ your new job. Cartographer."

_ I'd give up my job for that.  _

"Guess you found the right bribe to get me to quit, huh." 

"Flatterer." 

Timmy's hands have reached the very top of Armie's thighs. He massages there, digging his nails in like a cat, kneading pleasurably. 

Armie feels himself getting hard again.  _ What did Léo call you?  _ he wants to ask.  _ I don't want to call you baby and see in your eyes that I crossed a line.  _

_ Or maybe he called you something cute in French.  _

"Thought we were going out to the dog park?" he murmurs, in Timmy's ear. 

"We are." Timmy kisses his chin, then the corner of his mouth. "Just something to think about while we're out." 

_ Did you really think I wouldn't be thinking about you anyway?  _

Armie smiles. "Are we just throwing clothes on and going? Shower later?" 

Nodding, Timmy runs a hand through his curls. "If you can bear to be seen out with a dude with hair like  _ this." _

Armie looks at him askance. "Shut up. Anyone not jealous of me needs a fucking eye exam." 

"You're a great ego boost." Timmy says it with a lopsided little grin. 

"Ha. So are you." Armie picks up Timmy's plate of toast and hands it to him. "Go over there and finish your toast." 

Timmy giggles, and takes the plate. "Am I being unhelpful?" he asks, innocently. Stepping away, he leans back against the counter opposite to take a bite. 

"Very." Armie sweeps him with a long, slow look, taking in Timmy's appearance. He's half-hard, tenting his boxers, pale cheeks a little flushed. "Maybe don't even look at me," adds Armie, mock-exasperated.

Timmy smirks and turns away, elbows on the counter, pushing his ass out towards Armie. "Better?" 

"Oh my god." 

Timmy looks around over his shoulder, grinning. "Wait.  _ Not  _ better?" he shifts his weight, ass wiggling. 

"You  _ trying  _ to make me come over there?" 

"I mean…" 

Armie laughs and rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna go eat my toast in bed. And then get ready to go out." 

Timmy giggles through a mouthful of toast. "Whatever makes you happy." 

Hopping off the counter, Armie adjusts his jeans and grabs his plate. "Tease." 

Timmy stands up and reaches out for Armie as he passes; touches his chin, his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss. They smile into it, and Armie softly bites Timmy's bottom lip. 

_ Fuck, but you're beautiful, baby. _

Armie sits against the headboard, texting Tyler back as he eats his toast. 

Armie:  **Think the only one of our dates that matches up is next Sunday if that works for you **

Armie:  **Puppy class in the evening but we could do the beach in the morning? Kids will be up early anyway right? **

Tyler:  **Sounds good...put us in your calendar ☺️**

Armie:  **Done** 👍 

Timmy strolls into the bedroom; throws off his t-shirt and grins. "Can I borrow a shirt?" 

Armie nods to the closet. "Sure. Take your pick." 

Timmy pulls the doors open and starts to flick through Armie's clothes. "Oh  _ shit,  _ man, these  _ suits.  _ You better let me see you in your work gear one morning." 

Huffing a laugh, Armie tries to regulate his grin.  _ Stay over until a work morning then.  _ "You'll see what a boring businessman I really am." 

Timmy throws him a look over his shoulder. "I'll  _ see _ if you get to work on time. My guess is no." He selects a striped long-sleeve t-shirt. "This one?" 

"Any one you want." Armie watches the muscles shift in Timmy's shoulders as he pulls on the t-shirt. He wants to kiss every inch of his skin. "It'll be kind of big on you though." 

Timmy shrugs and turns around. "Can I borrow your toothbrush and deodorant?"

"Just—don't feel like you have to ask, okay? Use what you need." 

Timmy smiles, but his shoulders hunch slightly. "Sorry. Yeah. I—haven't done this in a while. The awkward stage." 

_ Stage.  _ Armie's stomach fills with butterflies at the word.  _ 'Stage' makes it sound like a progression, a journey, something that's not over before it even started—  _

The bathroom door shuts behind Timmy, and Armie shakes himself out of his thoughts. 

_ You should be so lucky. He's going back to New York. Get a hold of yourself. _

Slowly, Armie gets up and finds socks; sits on the edge of the bed to put them on. He hears the bathroom door open, then feels Timmy's fingers caressing his scalp, and looks up. 

"Feeling slow?" asks Timmy, and the look in his eyes is fond. 

Armie nods, reaching out to put his hand on Timmy's hip. 

"Me too, today. Could totally go for another nap later." 

"You should. Make up for the rest of the week. Month. Year," smiles Armie. 

"I don't know. I've slept pretty well this week." Timmy dips down and kisses him lightly. "Wizard."

* 

The drive is mostly companionable silence; they listen to the radio, and Timmy intervenes between Livs and Archie when they try to play too roughly. 

In the park they use the long leashes, and everything goes okay except for when Armie has to haul Livvy away from a jogger and her extremely well-trained shiba inu, neither of whom are interested in her jumping up at them. 

Timmy blushes deep red. "Shit. I feel so bad for that woman but like—how is Livs supposed to get trained unless I bring her out to the park—"

Armie puts his hand on the nape of Timmy's neck. "Hey. Hey, it's all good. She wasn't scared of dogs or anything, she was fine. We got Livvy out of her way, and gave her a treat when she came back. She's just learning." 

_ "You  _ got her out of the way—" 

Armie pulls him in and kisses his temple. "It's fine, Tim. You did the right thing." 

"Ugh, I'm so shit at this—"

Armie laughs, disbelievingly. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a good dog dad." 

_ I just pulled him close and kissed him without even thinking about it,  _ Armie realizes with surprise. Capitalising on the moment, he tips Timmy's chin up and kisses him gently on the lips. "We're all still learning." 

Timmy sighs and rests his head against Armie's chest. "I just—I wasn't sure about a dog in the first place because I didn't know if I could even look after it properly or train it, and he just—steamrollered all my objections and now I feel like I'm barely managing to figure it all out, and only because you help me all the time—" 

Archie yanks on the leash, trying to get into a bush he wants to sniff. Armie takes a couple steps with him, missing Timmy's body against his immediately. "So? You help me all the time too." 

Timmy half-shakes his head. "Shit, man. I don't. Not like—not the way you do." 

_ A thousand times more. In all the ways that actually matter,  _ thinks Armie. All he can do is shake his head. 

"Archie—buddy, what the hell are you sniffing in there?" mumbles Armie, going to drag him out of the bush. 

"Do you ever worry Archie's going to find a body?" asks Timmy, with a smile. 

Armie gives him a look. "What?" 

"You know? Like at the start of every episode of CSI Whatever? There's some, like, passerby walking their dog and the dog digs up a decomposing hand or something." 

"Jesus. I mean I'd never thought about it." 

"You will now." 

"Yup." Armie grins sidelong at him as they keep walking. "I can never tell what you're going to say next." 

Timmy shrugs. "I'm weird, I guess." 

Armie stops him with a touch to the hip, and kisses him gently.  _ You're the most fascinating person I've ever met.  _

When they separate, Timmy's eyes are wide and green, searching Armie's expression for something. 

Armie wonders if he finds it. 

*

Outside Armie's apartment, they let the puppies linger on the grass for a few minutes. 

"Time for that nap," murmurs Armie in Timmy's ear, as they take the elevator. 

Stepping out at Armie's floor, Timmy gives him a look over his shoulder. "Time for a shower, first." His hazel eyes hold clear invitation. 

They give the puppies lunch, and Timmy crowds Armie back against the kitchen counter, kissing his neck, his ears, his jaw. 

Armie slips his hands under the t-shirt Timmy's wearing, feeling a strange tug of possessive pleasure in his chest.  _ He's wearing my clothes.  _

"We need to crate them again," breathes Timmy. "You have to shower with me." 

Armie grimaces guiltily. "We could leave them out…"

"Livs will eat your carpet. Or sofa. And you won't be able to relax." Timmy nibbles on Armie's earlobe. 

"I know. I just feel bad for crating them the whole time." 

"They'll be sleepy after their walk." 

Armie kisses the tip of Timmy's nose. "You know I'm going to do it anyway. So." 

"I want you." 

_ Fuck. I want you so much I'm not sure how to cope.  _ Armie aches with it: his chest feels both cavernous with need, and too small for his quickly-beating heart. He turns away. Washes up the puppies' food bowls while Timmy gives them water and tempts them into their crates. 

When Timmy passes him on the way to the bedroom, Armie reaches out and takes him by the shoulders; spins him into his embrace. Kisses him needily, selfishly.  _ Mine.  _

Armie kicks the bedroom door shut behind them as they stumble through. 

Timmy caresses Armie's scalp with both hands, running his fingers through and through the short soft hair. And then his hands are at Armie's shirt, pulling it up, away; Armie reciprocates, tugging at his t-shirt that Timmy's wearing. 

They shed clothes on the way to the ensuite, and Timmy crowds Armie into the shower, pressing him back against the cool tiles. 

"Fuck, your shower is so nice. It's huge." 

"You were in it last night," smiles Armie. 

"I didn't notice anything about it," grins Timmy, trailing his fingers down the center of Armie's chest. "I really didn't." 

Pride and happiness leap in Armie's chest.  _ I made him feel good. I blissed him out. Fuck.  _

Armie turns on the rain spray, and Timmy practically purrs under it, pressing his forehead to Armie's shoulder, letting his curls get wet. 

_ Like a kitten,  _ thinks Armie.  _ Like a cat rubbing against things. _ He runs his fingers through Timmy's hair, smoothing it back from his face. "Fuck. Your cheekbones." 

Timmy laughs; blushes a little. "You want me to cut my hair short too?" 

"No." Armie says it decidedly. "I love your hair. But you're just…"  _ stupidly beautiful.  _ He shrugs. Hopes that the way he's looking at Timmy makes up for the words he can't get out. 

Timmy kneels down. 

When he takes Armie's cock into his mouth, it's a long, smooth slide. His hand meets his lips, and the rhythm he sets up is slow, intense. 

Armie watches in a daze. It's so good he feels like he's floating, observing from a distant place of pleasure.  _ It can't be me, standing here in my shower with this beautiful, clever, kind boy on his knees in front of me—  _

Timmy's right hand strokes Armie's cock in concert with his mouth, but his left wanders up to caress Armie's stomach, to trace the line of his hipbone, ring his bellybutton with a quick, light circle of the pad of his thumb—

Armie can't help smiling.  _ He explores. He's curious, even while he's doing this.  _

Timmy increases the suction and pace of his movements so gradually that Armie doesn't notice for a while what heights of blissful tension he's reached. Only when he catches himself curling his toes against the base of the shower does he realize that his thigh and stomach muscles are taut, that he's almost shaking. 

"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, Timmy—" 

Timmy looks up at him from under dark eyelashes, and  _ smiles.  _ His tongue flicks lightly at the head of Armie's cock as he does it.

Armie can't help gasping a laugh; letting his head fall back against the tiled wall. "You're killing me." 

Timmy grins, then settles to sucking him more intently, moving his head and hand together with deliberate, luxuriously smooth motions. 

Armie runs his hand slowly over Timmy's head—no pressure, no weight to his touch—and Timmy groans lightly. Sucks harder. 

_ He wants me to hold his head. Direct him.  _

Tentatively, Armie lets his hand weigh a little heavier on Timmy's head. 

Timmy makes a stifled little moaning sound this time, and the fingernails of his left hand graze Armie's hip. 

The delicate hint of pain has Armie suddenly skimming closer to the edge than he'd expected. He gasps and touches Timmy's cheek.  _ "Fuck— _ Tim—" 

Timmy digs his fingernails more deliberately into Armie's hip; scratches, just a little. 

Armie groans. "Don't—I'm—I'm close—"  _ And somehow, that's what's going to tip me over.  _

Timmy looks up at him, gaze striking green, and it's pure urgency, pure encouragement. 

_ He wants me to come.  _ The thought is fire down Armie's spine. He follows the curve of Timmy's ear with his fingertips; finds his hand taken, held, pressed to the top of Timmy's head.  _ Hold me. Show me. Push me. Fuck me.  _ The message has Armie on the brink. 

He holds back as long as he can, trying to ride the mounting waves of pleasure instead of allowing them to crash over him, but Timmy's lips and tongue and hand are still moving, bringing him closer and closer until he can't stop, can't wait another second—

"Timmy—I'm—" he gasps the words, then groans and lets himself fall, tipping over into a long, slow,  _ peaceful _ kind of bliss that he's not sure he's experienced before. He doesn't feel his own movements, doesn't hear his own words or sounds; just floats in an ever-extending moment of pleasure. 

When sight and sound return they are strangely sharp-edged. Timmy's still on his knees, kissing Armie's thighs, his stomach—softly-brushed lips, barely teasing the skin. Armie's hand is still on his head. 

_ "Fuck. _ That was—come here—" Armie puts his hands on Timmy's shoulders and pulls at him. "C'mon." 

Timmy stands up, and leans against Armie, their bodies fitting together easily. Armie's arms slip around his waist. 

Timmy is hard against his thigh. 

Kissing Timmy's ear, Armie murmurs, "what do you want?" 

Timmy presses his face to Armie's neck, and Armie recognizes again the traces of that same bashfulness from last night. 

_ He wants me to decide for him.  _

Armie takes Timmy's wrists; guides him gently to lean against the tiles. Pins his wrists on either side of his hips. 

Timmy moans the moment Armie takes him into his mouth. He's already tense, making fists to test Armie's grip. When he finds it strong, his breath catches and he controls a roll of his hips. 

Armie pulls back. "It's okay," he says, looking up to find Timmy's gaze. "You can—you should try that. If you want to." 

Timmy takes a hurried little breath. "It's—it's fine, I wasn't trying to—" 

Armie smiles, and squeezes his wrists. "I meant—I want you to. Just—a little, at first, maybe?"

"Fuck. Are you sure?" 

"'Course." Armie closes his lips over the head of Timmy's cock again, sucking him lightly. 

When Timmy starts to gently roll his hips, it takes Armie a few strokes to get used to it; he tests his own movements as he meets Timmy's, and it doesn't take long before they find a rhythm that has Timmy groaning and gasping breathy curses. 

Armie brushes his thumbs across Timmy's wrists as he holds them back against the tiles. 

Before long, Timmy's even bigger and harder in Armie's mouth; his stomach muscles tense and his movements are shivery, quick. 

"Armie—I'm—I need a break…" he mumbles. 

Armie looks up, and shakes his head slightly. 

_ No baby. No. Come for me.  _ He squeezes Timmy's wrists again, reassuringly. 

"I'm gonna—"

_ I know.  _ He makes sure his tongue flicks the spot beneath the head of Timmy's cock that makes him groan every time, tightens his lips and meets every short, shaky thrust—

"Oh fuck, Armie,  _ fuck—" _ Timmy whispers it, and then he's moaning, flooding Armie's mouth with bitter-tasting come. 

When it's done, Armie swallows and turns Timmy's hands; kisses the inside of his wrists—left, then right. Stands up, pulling Timmy's hands to his chest. 

Timmy rests his head on Armie's shoulder. 

_ Thank you,  _ thinks Armie nonsensically. He lays his hand across the nape of Timmy's neck. 

"You look like you could go for that nap," he says, after a while. 

"Mmm." Timmy seems to rouse himself. Lifts his lips to be kissed, eyelids heavy. "I kind of could." 

Armie smiles. "You should." He opens the shower gel and takes some in his palm; washes them both, slowly. 

"The puppies…" 

"I'm good with them." 

"Don't you have shit to do this afternoon?" 

"Only laundry. And I might practice some guitar. Haven't in too long." 

Timmy kisses the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure." And then, because he can't help himself: "you staying over tonight, after class?" 

Timmy smiles—then frowns, and sighs. "Shit. No. I promised Saoirse I'd drive her to the hospital in the morning. It's kind of the least I can do, since she puppysits so much." 

_ Crap.  _ "Everything okay?" asks Armie, lightly. 

Timmy shrugs. "Yeah, just a routine thing, from what she said."

Armie gets out of the shower before Timmy, and holds out a towel for him. As he takes it, Timmy gives him a quizzical little look from under his eyelashes. 

Armie wonders if he's done something wrong, or accidentally reminded him of something Léo used to do. 

*

Outside puppy class everyone waits together as a group, and it's the usual pandemonium, with all the puppies pulling on their leashes to get to one another, yelping, trying to play fight, or barking. Timmy and Armie maneuver Archie and Livvy into a corner next to one of the calmer puppies, a curly fluffball called Tolly. 

Armie distracts them with treats, trying to stop them from pulling towards the tiny wiener dog with a surprisingly loud, deep bark. 

Tolly's owner, an older woman with a brisk attitude in class, smiles at Timmy. Nods to the puppies. "Those two seem inseparable." 

Timmy ducks his head and smiles. "Yeah. Um—yeah. They kind of are." 

_ They'll be separated in four weeks,  _ thinks Armie numbly, staring down at the puppies without really seeing them.  _ Archie won't even understand what happened.  _

When he glances up, Timmy's eyes are fixed on his face. 

They both look quickly away.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your thoughtful, lovely comments. I'm so happy and lucky to have great readers. 💕

Armie:  **Today was stupidly busy. Just on my way to the gym. How was taking Saoirse to the hospital? Traffic seemed pretty bad this morning so I wondered if you got there ok **

Timmy:  **yeah all fine. she made me pick her up early so ✌️😂 **

Armie:  **Livs ok? **

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **goofy but good. getting ready to drop her at saoirse's + head to work **

Armie:  **And...what if I asked you for a selfie…? **

Timmy:  **in return for a sweaty gym selfie? sure ** 😉 

Armie:  **My trainer would kick my ass if I spent my gym time taking selfies **

Timmy:  **yeah but he doesn't go shower with you afterwards does he **

Timmy:  **does he???**

Armie:  **Ha. No competition there Tim. Can't say I have a habit of taking my phone into the gym shower though **

Timmy:  **never too late to pick up new habits ❤️ **

Armie:  **Cheeky little fucker **

Timmy: 😍😍😍 

Timmy:  **hopefully you're working up a good sweat**

Armie: ** [image] **

Armie:  **Here's your sweaty selfie, blackmailer. Not exactly my best look **

Timmy:  **uhhh maybe you keep your thoughts to yourself??? i'll be the judge of your hotness. you are v unreliable on the topic **

Armie:  **Pony up that selfie, Chalamet. **

Timmy:  **[image] **

Timmy:  **there. me nauseous + pale before going on stage. what a treat. **

_ I want to kiss you. I can't bear this.  _ Armie climbs into the car and grips the steering wheel.  _ Why do I miss you so much? It's barely been a day.  _

Armie:  **You're going to be as amazing as always **

Armie:  **And I wish I was there to kiss you and make you feel better. **

Armie types another message, then deletes it. 

_ You're beautiful, even when you don't feel good.  _

*

Timmy:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Holy fuck Tim, I'm at my desk trying to function**

Armie:  **How did you even take that? Timer? **

Timmy:  **set up to video while I was in the shower then took a screengrab** 🤭 

Armie: 👀  **...And where is that video now?**

Timmy:  **very deleted. that's not going on the cloud**

Armie:  **Shit.**

Timmy: 🤭  **miss you**

Armie:  **Yeah well I fucking miss you too. Fuck. I have to try and get rid of a boner in the office now**

Timmy:  **if i was there i could help you out with that**

Armie:  **Not. Helping.**

Timmy:  **gym later?????**

Armie:  **Most likely. After therapy**

Timmy:  **well you know what i want**

Armie:  **Hmm. I'll decide if you've been too naughty.**

Timmy:  **afsfhjkgd**

Armie: 😂

Timmy:  **tease**

Timmy:  **seriously tho i hope therapy goes well. text me** ❤️ 

*

"So you got back in touch with Tyler?" 

Armie nods. He can't help smiling. "Yeah. Yeah. He came over, at the weekend." 

"You enjoyed seeing him?" 

Armie nods. "Yeah. It was—it was really good to catch up, actually. And I've—arranged to see him and Jacquie—his wife—and their kids, on Sunday. At the beach." 

His therapist nods. "That sounds like a very positive step." 

Armie looks down at his hands; takes a breath. "Timmy and I kissed," he says, quickly. "And—spent most of the weekend together." He can feel himself blushing. There's an automatic uneasy skitter of fear down his spine, even though he knows this place is safe. 

His therapist's expression remains calm, neutral. "Yes?" 

Armie tries to control his face; it wants to stretch into a bashful grin. He knows his cheeks are still flushed pink. "He's—" he bursts out.  _ He's amazing. He's so clever, and funny, and he teases me all the time, and his acting—his acting— _ He tries again, exercising more control. "I went to see his play. He's amazing." After a moment, when his therapist doesn't speak, he goes on. "After the play, we went on a—a date, I guess. At a bar. I—I know it's nothing, but I took his hand in public. And I—I kissed him, actually. In the parking lot, and at the dog park." Slowly, he adds. "Nobody cared. No-one even noticed." 

Gently, his therapist nods. "And how did you feel, touching him in public?" 

Armie sighs. He feels his smile fading a little. "I—well. Threatened, at first." The words sound stark. "There  _ was  _ no outside threat. But I felt like—like everyone around us must be watching. Judging. Condemning." 

His therapist waits, hands folded in her lap. 

Armie takes a breath. "But I—Sunday, we went to the dog park again. And I hugged him, then kissed him, without even thinking about it. I mean, I realized afterwards what I'd done so I guess it wasn't  _ totally  _ natural? But—" he shrugs. 

"And during or after intimacy," asks his therapist blandly. "How do you feel?" 

"Uh—" Armie hesitates. "I mean—only—only good? Kind of—disbelieving, I guess? That someone like him...that he... I—I'm not sure I really understand the question." 

"Occasionally, people who have grown up in homophobic environments are overwhelmed with disgust at themselves or their partners once they have been intimate. In the worst cases, it can be so extreme that it leads to violence, self-directed or aimed at the partner. Several studies have found it to be a significant factor in violence directed towards same-sex sex workers." 

"No.  _ No.  _ No—I mean—never. I'd never—I don't feel—" Armie stammers. He stops; takes a breath. He feels sick at the thought. "I don't feel that. I'd never hurt him. I'm—I'm  _ grateful  _ that he—that he wants me." 

His therapist watches him. After a few moments, she asks, "why?" 

"Well, he…" Armie composes his thoughts. "I've—I've told him, or—or he can tell that it's not always easy for me to be affectionate—in public, I mean—so I don't imagine that's easy to deal with. I asked him if it was kind of insulting, but he said I should stop worrying. I just—if the tables were turned, I don't know if I'd...if I'd be okay with being with someone who was dealing with a bunch of internalised shit." He half-shakes his head. "Although I imagine a lot of it is the fact that he's just not that invested, to be honest—I mean, he's going back to New York in a few weeks, so. And he just got out of a big relationship, so this is...it's clearly kind of a...rebound." 

His therapist nods, thoughtfully. At last, she asks, "does he  _ act _ as though he's not invested in your connection?" 

"No… I—he's—he's a very kind person," mumbles Armie, looking fixedly at his knees. 

"Why do you assume that his actions are attributable to kindness, rather than to genuine interest?" 

Armie blinks, and has no answer. There's a silence. 

"Will he be meeting Tyler with you, on Sunday?" asks Jane. 

Armie looks up, surprised. His stomach swoops at the thought. "Uh—I hadn't—" he takes a breath, shifting his gaze to stare at the corner of a picture frame. "I—don't imagine he'd be that interested? He's a lot younger than me, even, and Tyler and Jacs have two kids, and you know what kids are like at the beach—there'll be overexcitement, and screaming, and tiredness, and more screaming…" he shrugs. 

"But you don't think he'd like to go with you?" 

Armie blinks, thinking about it. He feels like the ground is sliding beneath his feet. "I'm—not sure." 

"Would  _ you  _ like him to go with you?" 

Armie takes a deep breath. "It would—mean telling Tyler. And Jacs. About—us. Well, about—me. And I think it might make Tim—freak out. Make him think I'm trying to make it more serious than it is." 

"You don't want it to be serious?" 

_ No I do—oh, fuck, I do—I just don't think it's that deep for him.  _

"I—don't think there's time for us to find that out. He's leaving in four weeks. And he's—I mean, he's twenty-one, he's not going to  _ stay _ in whatever relationship he gets into now, especially not right after a breakup—"

"If you don't let him in, don't give him the opportunity to decide, how will either of you know?" 

Armie stares at her. "It would mean—coming out," he says, quietly. 

"Do you trust Tyler? His wife?" 

Slowly, he nods. "It wouldn't go any further." 

His therapist waits a minute. When Armie doesn't say anything else, she speaks again. "Previously, you told me that one of your regrets in your relationship with Elizabeth was that a mix of factors—your sexuality, her profession, your personalities in combination—meant that you felt you had never achieved true openness with her. A true meeting of minds." She pauses, seeming to wait for pushback from Armie. 

Slowly, he nods. 

"It seems to me that you would be open to finding that meeting of minds with this man," she says, calmly.  _ "If _ you are prepared to give him the opportunity to decide whether that's what he wants too." 

Armie takes a breath, and looks down at his hands. 

_ Fuck.  _

_ Fuck. I want to. So much.  _

*

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **There's your gym selfie. Sweaty. Exhausted. About to climb in the shower **

Timmy:  **hnnnnghhhh** 😍  **so i wasn't too naughty? **

Armie:  **Oh you were. But I'm a very nice person. **

Timmy: 🤭  **you can always punish me later**

Armie smiles.  _ I don't want to punish you, baby. I just want to give you everything you want.  _

Armie:  **Break a leg at work, Tim. x**

*

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **i liked the sunrise while i was taking livs out to pee**

Timmy:  **hope you had a good morning **

Armie:  **Just had a heart attack, Tim. Thought you'd sent me another shower pic **

Timmy: 🤭  **disappointed? **

Armie:  **Well, the sunrise is pretty too. Could definitely go for a picture of your face though **

Armie:  **Can't believe it's Wednesday already. This week's going fast.**

Armie:  **Tell me about your week?**

_ I miss you.  _

Timmy:  **uhhhhh nothing super exciting's happened tbh... couldn't sleep at all last night**

Armie:  **Timmy…**

Timmy: 🙁  **didn't have a sleep spell**

Armie:  **You should've asked me for one **

Timmy:  **only works in person, remember? **

Armie's heart aches. 

Timmy:  **drinks with the cast + crew tomorrow. Will be good** 🙂 

Armie frowns at his phone.  _ He sounds kind of down, maybe.  _

Armie:  **I could come pick you up after drinks, if you want? You wouldn't have to get public transport then **

Timmy:  **we'll be out late tho? you have to work Friday **

Armie:  **You could stay at mine. And get sleep. **

Timmy:  **we'd have to go to saoirse's tho to get livs...it'd be a late one for you **

Armie:  **Oh well. Fridays are never that productive anyway. I'll ask my boss if I can work at home **

Timmy:  **are you sure? **

_ Am I being too much? Am I forcing him into something because he's polite and kind?  _ Armie hesitates before typing. 

Armie:  **I'd like to if you would 🙂 but no pressure**

Timmy: 😍😍😍  **thank you that'd be cool**

Timmy:  **how much of a 'work' from home situation is it??? **

Armie huffs a laugh. 

Armie:  **not very. i have to be visible on Teams all day **

Timmy:  **lame. will you still wear your suit?**

Armie:  **Ha. If you ask nicely maybe**

Timmy:  **i can ask ** ** _very_ ** ** nicely**

Timmy:  **are you out buying salad?**

Armie:  **Italian chicken, before you ask.**

Timmy:  **i'm going to make you eat carbs this weekend. ridiculous man **

Armie:  **Good thing I'm going to the gym again after work… **

Timmy:  **pics please, gorgeous **

Armie:  **Pics plural, Chalamet?**

Timmy:  **i mean, i'll take as many as you'll send…**

*

Armie:  **Happy Thursday. Looking forward to seeing you later**

Timmy: 😍 

Armie:  **WHY ARE YOU AWAKE**

Armie:  **Did you want to let Saoirse know I'm picking you up later? I could swing by hers and get Livs before I come get you.**

Timmy:  **can't sleep**

Timmy:  **are you sure?**

Armie:  **Sure. Makes more sense. We'll all get to bed sooner **

Timmy: 🤭😉 

Armie:  **Don't...I just got to my desk**

Timmy:  **don't tell me that. i want to crawl under there. get on my knees for you **

Armie:  **Timmy…**

Timmy:  **think you could come silently for me? **

Armie:  **Fuck. **

Timmy:  **sorry gorgeous 🤭**

Armie:  **Are you? **

Timmy:  **no 😍**

*

Timmy:  **so if you pick me up at midnight? i could tell saoirse you'd pick livs up around 11:30? **

Armie:  **Midnight? Seems kind of early? You don't need to cut yourself off earlier than you normally would **

Timmy:  **doug, babe, recognize when a guy's desperate to get you into bed huh **

Armie:  **11:30 and midnight it is, Hal **

Timmy: 🤭❤️ 

*

Armie stops the car and takes a deep breath.  _ Okay. Saoirse. Hope she doesn't look like she wants to kill me again.  _

Leaving Archie in his crate in the trunk, Armie climbs out of the car and heads for the front door of her building. Checks Timmy's text once more, to ensure he's pressing the right buzzer. 

"Hello?" answers an Irish accent. 

"Armie," he returns, staring down at the floor. "To pick up Livs." 

"I'll bring her down." 

Armie runs his hand through his hair, then realizes he doesn't really have a style he can tidy anymore. Fiddles with his t-shirt, and has the urge to check his teeth with his phone camera. 

When Saoirse appears, she has Livs in the crate, plus a backpack which Armie assumes is full of her food and toys. 

Awkwardly, Armie takes both things from her, and they walk to his SUV. 

"This is your little lad?" asks Saoirse, ducking her head to look through the door as Armie settles the crate onto the back seat. 

Armie nods; throws her a too-friendly smile. "Archie. Yeah." 

"He's a cutie." She speaks in measured tones, sweeping Armie with an appraising glance. 

Armie finishes settling Livs' crate and steps back from the car. "He is. Mostly." 

"You going to pick up Timo?" 

"Yes. Yeah. At the bar near the theater." 

"Hmm." She gives him another look. "Met his castmates yet?" 

Armie shakes his head.  _ I don't think it's really that kind of a thing, for him.  _ "You know them?" 

"A couple of them." 

Armie looks up.  _ Time for a direct question of my own.  _ "How do you know Tim?" 

"I knew his ex through a mate."

Armie prays his expression doesn't give away his surprise and dismay. 

"Met Timo at a party and we hit it off," Saoirse adds. 

_ Are you still friends with Léo?  _ Armie wonders. 

"What he did to him was total shit," says Saoirse crisply. Her blue eyes are icy, and they contain what looks like a warning. 

Armie swallows. "I know." 

"Timo never deserved anything like that. He's a good lad." 

All Armie can do is shake his head.  _ I know.  _

Saoirse watches him for another few seconds; then her piercing gaze drops away. She holds out her hand. "Let me give you my number," she says briskly. "In case you need anything." 

Surprised, Armie hands her his phone. She types in her number, then briefly calls herself. "There. And now I've got yours, too." 

*

Armie turns around to get Livvy's attention. She's scrabbling at the crate, trying to reach Archie. 

"C'mon Livs. Your dad'll be here in a minute."

Armie:  **Your daughter's in the parking lot**

Timmy:  **o 😍 be right out**

Armie:  **No rush x**

When Timmy appears, his eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed; he's glowing with that post-show aura that makes him magnetic to Armie's gaze. He waves from across the parking lot, and grins. 

Spilling into the car, Timmy sheds his backpack and plants an enthusiastic kiss on Armie's lips; turns around to greet a wiggling, whining Livvy, leaning over the seat to rub his forehead against her muzzle, giggling and recoiling as she tries to lick his face through the crate bars. 

He turns to Armie again and smiles with his eyes; leans in to press their noses together. "Hey." 

"Hi." Armie's grinning stupidly, he's sure. He touches Timmy's jaw, then cups his cheek. Kisses him softly, slowly, breath catching as Timmy nibbles his bottom lip, and slips his tongue into Armie's mouth. 

"Take me home please," grins Timmy. His hand lands on Armie's thigh as they pull out of the parking lot. 

Outside the apartment, Armie lets the puppies out of their crates. He lets them play-fight on their leashes, and find somewhere to pee. Timmy leans against the car, attempting to distract Armie and pull him closer. 

Armie rolls his eyes, but he can't help grinning, and he kisses Timmy greedily, pressing him back against the door of the SUV. 

"Missed you," whispers Timmy, voice deep. "A  _ lot."  _

"Mmm." Armie gives him one more kiss, then pulls the puppies back in. "I'll put them in their crates now, then we'll take the elevator." 

"Wait, wait." Timmy kneels down to get ecstatic puppy adoration; hangs his head, giggling, as Archie and Livs sniff and lick him, wagging so hard they can barely stand.

When Timmy stands up, Armie tempts first Archie then Livs into their crates, pulls the backpack full of Livvy's stuff onto his back, and picks up Livs' crate. He slips an arm around Timmy's waist. "You good carrying Arch?" 

Timmy nods and turns his face up for a kiss—he's sweet, pliant, and  _ buzzed. _ Armie kisses his lips, his cheek, and his temple. 

In the elevator, Timmy leans against him sleepily. 

Maneuvering the puppies' crates into the apartment takes a few minutes; Armie does it carefully, not wanting to make too much noise, given the time. Once they're in, he pushes off his shoes, drops the backpack, and pads to where Timmy's sitting on the counter, drinking a glass of milk. 

Armie grins. "Pint of water'd be better." He puts his hands on Timmy's thighs. 

"Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me." 

_ Figures drunk Timmy would be crazy affectionate,  _ thinks Armie with a soft little smile. "You want me to make you Nutella toast?" he asks. 

"Kisses first.  _ Then  _ Nutella toast." 

As they kiss, Timmy wraps his arms around Armie's neck and his legs around his waist. His kisses are needy; open and demanding. 

_ I'm not sure I should let this go further,  _ thinks Armie reluctantly.  _ He's pretty buzzed.  _

"I'm dizzy," giggles Timmy. 

Armie reaches up to brush that errant curl behind his ear. Smiles.  _ You're beautiful.  _ "Water, Nutella toast and sleep." 

Timmy groans and lies down on the counter. 

Armie leans over to move some keys and a pile of papers for recycling out of his path, huffing a laugh. "Sleeping here, Tim?" 

"Only if you sleep here too." 

"Hmm. Maybe. We could try my bed, though." Armie leans over and pushes up Timmy's sweater and t-shirt; kisses his belly. Finds a freckle and kisses that too. 

Timmy's hands are on his head, running over his short hair. "Are you kissing freckles again?" 

Armie nods, letting his lips brush the soft skin of Timmy's stomach. "Tell me to stop if it's annoying." 

Timmy's stomach tenses as he giggles. "You're ridiculous." He huffs another laugh, which sounds a little sadder. "You see me. You like my freckles." 

Armie straightens up a little; puts his hand where his lips had just been. Watches Timmy's face, or the oblique sliver of it he can see at this angle. "Of course I do," he says, quietly.  _ Lately it feels like the only thing I see is you. The only thing that matters, anyway.  _

"Léo never did," says Timmy, and his voice is a half-humorous twist of pain. He sounds like he's walking the line between laughter and tears, staring blankly up at the ceiling. "He saw my acting. He watched me act and he wanted it, wanted to own it, be it, climb inside my skin—fuck  _ it _ while he fucked me. We'd have these—  _ obsessive  _ conversations about acting, and he wanted me to explain how I do it, explain myself and make it his, attainable, but I thought he wanted  _ me."  _ Quietly, after a moment, he adds, "I expect he thought he wanted me too." 

Armie swallows. His stomach is a dark knot of jealousy, curiosity, and fear.  _ Is he talking about this because he's still grieving for it? For the loss of Léo?  _

He remembers Timmy, outside the theater:  _ I'm not your idol. I don't want to be your idol.  _

"I introduced him to my  _ parents," _ says Timmy, and it sounds as if he's marvelling at his own stupidity. "He never introduced me to anyone. I knew shit about his life, about who he really was. They were in Paris, but…but I would've  _ gone  _ to fucking Paris. And I was so dumb, you know? I should've  _ realized _ he didn't see me as a partner. Didn't see—me. There were so many red flags, but I was so, so fucking dumb." 

"No." Armie's voice is rough. "You're not dumb for trusting someone, Tim. You're—you're kind, and clever, and funny, and you see through people with an emotional intelligence that's occasionally sort of scary. You trusted someone, and he wasn't worth it. That's all. It's not on you." 

"I never  _ saw through  _ him. Until the end. Until…" Timmy turns his head away, and now there are tears in his voice. "I'm still so humiliated," he whispers. 

_ Fuck.  _ Armie's heart twists with anger and vicarious hurt. He takes Timmy's hands and pulls him up to sit. Lifts him gently down from the counter and draws him to his side; walks him to bed. Holds his face in both hands, and kisses wet cheeks beneath glistening eyes. "Get into bed." 

He fetches a pint of water; makes toast and Nutella. Brings them, and makes Timmy drink half the pint  _ before _ he's allowed the toast. 

Timmy's eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks blotched pink, his curls a messy halo. Armie kisses the Nutella taste from his mouth, licking his lips and making him huff a soft laugh. 

"Thought you weren't allowed Nutella?" Timmy mumbles, pressing his forehead to Armie's temple. 

"Oh, trace amounts don't count." Armie kisses him again. "Drink the rest of your water." 

"I'm gonna be peeing every hour." 

"You probably don't even get hangovers at your age, do you? I'm just showing you the old man's self-preservation tricks. For future reference."

Timmy snorts a laugh, rolling his eyes. "You're. Not. Old." 

"I'm a lot older than  _ you."  _

"Not that much older." Timmy's eyes are striking hazel-green. His eyelashes flutter as he looks intently at Armie. He bites his bottom lip. 

Armie's heart races. He smiles, and kisses Timmy's nose. "C'mon. Let's go brush our teeth." 

Timmy leans against Armie's side while Armie brushes his teeth. Armie slips his arm around Timmy's waist while he does his. 

Next to the bed, Armie helps Timmy take off his sweater and t-shirt, his socks and pants. He quickly discards his own clothes as Timmy climbs under the duvet. 

"Did I fuck everything up?" whispers Timmy, as they settle with their heads on one pillow. "I didn't mean—when we got home I just wanted to fuck, but then I blurted out all that shit instead—" 

Armie cups Timmy's sharp jaw in the palm of his hand. "Don't be an idiot. Of course you didn't fuck anything up." 

"You're—you're so  _ nice  _ to me all the time, and it just…it makes me think about everything I got wrong." Timmy worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. 

Armie thinks for a moment. "So, first thing—I want you to know I'm not  _ being  _ particularly nice, okay? I'm just—you  _ should  _ be treated decently. You deserve that, absolutely. But I really haven't done anything special." 

Timmy half-shakes his head, curls crushed on the pillow. "You'd be surprised, maybe." 

Armie touches Timmy's chin with his thumb. "Secondly…" he tries to order his thoughts. "I'm glad you told me. I always…overthink. Worry I'm doing shit wrong." He takes a deep breath. "And…in my last—with Liz—I was really bad at opening up. Telling her what I was thinking. What I—needed." It's a relief to say it, and the words come more easily now. "I think—it was me knowing I wasn't straight, that there was all this other stuff about me that even  _ I'd _ always been too scared to look at, and—I don't want to sound like an asshole, I'm not  _ blaming  _ her, but—she was—because of her job, she was  _ very  _ focused on making shit look good—well,  _ perfect— _ to the outside world, to social media, to our friends and family. And I just...let it happen. I let her construct this shell we could hide behind. But—" he frowns. "It wasn't like we were hiding  _ together,  _ behind it. It wasn't protecting  _ us.  _ I was just letting the convenient lie happen so I didn't have to look at myself." 

Timmy just looks at him, eyes wide. His eyelashes flutter. "But you are now," he says quietly. "And sometimes I feel like you're looking at yourself so hard you barely give yourself any room to breathe. It's like you don't…" he thinks for a second. "It's like you have no  _ mercy  _ on yourself." 

Armie blinks. Strokes along Timmy's jawline with the pad of his thumb. "I don't feel like I deserve it," he murmurs. "After thirty years of hiding." 

Timmy rolls his eyes. "I mean. For some of that you were a baby. For some of that you were a  _ fetus, _ actually." 

They both giggle, and Armie kisses the corner of Timmy's mouth. "I've got you to be merciful for me." 

Timmy's mouth turns down a little at the corners. There's a pause, and Armie thinks  _ but you'll be gone in four weeks.  _

Timmy shakes his head.  _ "No.  _ I want to see you being kind to  _ yourself."  _ He puts his hand in the center of Armie's chest, a soft, open-handed blow. "You deserve it." 

Armie makes a wry, doubtful little face, and Timmy growls. Rolls on top of him. 

"Don't be an asshole. You can't say all that nice shit about me then not accept  _ me _ telling some truths." 

Armie smiles, and kisses him. Slips his arm around Timmy's waist. "You sleeping here, huh?" 

Timmy grins. "On  _ top _ of you?" 

"Yeah. I like having you here." 

"Think you might like it less in a couple hours." 

Armie shrugs. "Maybe."  _ No way.  _ "Hey. Do you prefer little spoon or big spoon?" 

Timmy huffs a laugh against Armie's neck. "Both." Lifting his head, he gives Armie a quizzical look. "Aren't you annoyed you invited me over and we didn't fuck?" 

Armie sighs. "Do you  _ really  _ think I just want you here to fuck, Tim?" He strokes Timmy's cheek. "I think you know better than that." He tips Timmy over to the side. "Now, go to sleep, little spoon." 

"Do  _ you  _ prefer big spoon, then?" 

Armie smiles and kisses Timmy's nape. Half-shakes his head. "I like being your teaspoon too." 

Timmy huffs a sleepy giggle, and pulls Armie's hand to the center of his chest. "I need one more kiss." 

Armie leans over, and Timmy cranes back; their lips graze untidily, sweetly. 

"'Night, teaspoon," murmurs Timmy. 

"Goodnight, Tim." Armie kisses his shoulderblade, and settles down. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, and your kindness 💜

When Armie wakes to the unwelcome buzz of his alarm, Timmy's still asleep. As Armie rolls unwillingly from under the duvet, Timmy groans, turns on his side and pulls it over his head. 

Armie can't help grinning as he heads to let the puppies out of their crates and take them downstairs.

After he's cleaned up after them, Armie takes them back up in the elevator, bending down to tickle their ears and rub Archie's belly as he flops dramatically over onto his side. 

In the apartment, they rampage about as Armie gets their breakfast ready. Getting them to stick to one bowl each is difficult, and he ends up crouching between them so they don't keep trying to steal one another's food. Once they're done, he rolls a ball for them and washes up. 

He sets a pot of coffee brewing and slips into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind himself.  _ They'll be fine for a couple minutes.  _

Stripping off his clothes in the bathroom doorway, Armie looks at Timmy's curls on the pillow and lets himself imagine, just for a moment, that this is his life:  _ an apartment together. Him sleeping in while I get up to work. Our dogs making trouble in the next room. Later, me sleeping while he goes to work. Him coming home, crawling into bed and warming his hands on my stomach, his feet on my shins.  _

_ Fuck, I'm such an idiot.  _ He turns away, and gets into the shower. 

Ten minutes later, he's pulling on suit trousers and a white shirt. Smiling to himself, because it's purely at Timmy's request. Normally, working at home, he'd wear jeans and a t-shirt. 

_ Tie? Ugh, fuck, I'm not wearing the tie unless he specifically asks me to.  _

He lays out breakfast cereals and bagels on the counter; there's OJ in the fridge, but he's not sure what time Timmy's going to wake. Making himself a bowl of cereal, he carries it and a mug of coffee down the corridor into his office, the puppies milling around his feet. 

_ "No, _ Arch. My breakfast, not yours." Armie spots some cables the puppies will definitely try chewing, and pulls them up out of harm's way. Turns on his laptop. 

He swivels his chair around as he drinks his coffee, unable to stop smiling. Reaches out to mess with Livvy's ears, and to scratch Archie's back.  _ He's here. Timmy's here, sleeping. At some point he's going to emerge, sleepy, and I'll be able to kiss him.  _

_ Even though it's only temporary, this is an unasked-for fucking gift.  _

He signs into Teams, Skype for Business, and his emails. Pulls his phone out of his pocket, and opens his conversation with Tyler. Thinks for a moment. 

Armie:  **Hey man. You know I said I've been dating someone? Well I'd love you guys to meet one another. We could both come to the beach on Sunday, if you and Jacs are up for it? No pressure, no worries if not. **

Armie:  **And if you've got time it'd be good to FT tomorrow. Have a good day **

There's a tight knot of anxiety in his chest; but Armie takes a long, shaky breath, and tries to let it unravel. 

The answer only takes a couple minutes. 

Tyler:  **awesome ☺️☺️☺️ exciting! FT tomorrow morning? You know I'll be awake early with the kids so whenever ☺️ **

Armie:  **Thanks. Speak tomorrow ** 👍

Cold nausea settles in the pit of Armie's stomach when he thinks about it.  _ Coming out.  _ He tries to banish it from his thoughts. 

_ Tyler's the best I've got in terms of family to introduce you to, Tim. It sure as shit wouldn't do either of us much good introducing you to my mom.  _

He lets himself be absorbed in work, despite frequent breaks of attention to stop the puppies chewing things or play-fighting too fiercely. He forgets his cereal, and finishes it only when it's already puffed up and soggy with milk. 

He loses track of time, and the first thing he hears of Timmy is a crash from the kitchen, a loud "shit!" and a yelp. 

"Fuck," mutters Armie, pushing back from the desk. He manages to keep the puppies in the office, closing the door on them even though they try to duck beneath his arm, between his legs. 

"Armie I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking clumsy—shit—" Timmy's eyes are wide and anxious as he looks up at Armie from the kitchen floor. He's kneeling next to the shards of a broken tumbler, and a spreading pool of orange juice. 

There's a red bloom of blood on his hand, and it's all Armie can see. His heart kicks in his chest; he grabs Timmy's other hand and pulls him up to stand. Drags him to the sink. 

"I'm so sorry—I was trying to clean it up and—" Armie runs the water tepid and brings Timmy's hand under the stream, "—I'm so dumb, I'm really s—" 

"Jesus Christ, baby, stop," murmurs Armie. "Stop apologizing. Fuck, it's just a glass. I'm worried about your hand, okay? Not—something I can replace next time I'm at the store." 

He looks up. Timmy's pale, biting his lip. Looking fixedly at Armie's shoulder. 

"Not keen on blood?" asks Armie, quietly. 

Timmy shakes his head, and swallows. 

"C'mon." Armie grabs a piece of kitchen towel, presses it to the cut, and slips his arm around Timmy's waist. "It's not deep. I have a first aid kit in the guest bathroom." 

He steers Timmy around the mess and supports him down the corridor, hugging his skinny body close. 

"Your shirt," mumbles Timmy. "It's white. Don't get blood on it." 

Armie sits him on the edge of the tub and cups his chin in his hand. Grins. "Any excuse to get me to take my shirt off, huh? Granted blood's a bit more extreme than ketchup—" 

Timmy's expression changes slowly from stress through understanding into exasperation, a smile pulling unwillingly at the corners of his lips. He gently kicks Armie's ankle. "Stop." 

"Stop what?" mutters Armie, rooting in a cabinet for the first aid kit. 

"You're so—you can't—I'm just smashing shit in your kitchen and you're being all heroic and kind. It's not  _ fair."  _

Armie kneels in front of him; gently peels off the blood-soaked kitchen towel. "Who said life was fair? Don't look at it, baby, if it's gonna make you faint. I don't want you falling back and hitting your head." 

Timmy swallows and looks up at the ceiling. 

Swabbing the cut out with water and antiseptic, Armie presses a gauze to it, followed by a large band-aid. Then he dampens some toilet roll and wipes Tim's hands clean, making sure there's no blood left. Washes his own hands once he's bundled everything into the trashcan. 

"Shit. Where are the puppies?" 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Shut in the office. They were in there with me when you decided to carve yourself to pieces. They're probably on a conference call with my boss by now or something." 

Timmy snorts; reaches out to touch Armie's leg with his toes. "I'll go clean up." 

"No way." Armie turns and tips Timmy's chin up. "You go see the puppies, and stop them doing...whatever they're doing. Wait to go in until I've closed the kitchen door though. Fuck knows the last thing we need is one of them eating glass." 

Timmy sighs his agreement and stands up, a little tentatively. 

Armie reaches out; hugs him close. "Hey. Good morning." 

"Well, morning, anyway." Frowning slightly, Timmy turns his lips up for a kiss. "I swear I'll replace your glass." 

"Oh my god." Armie touches Timmy's face. "What is this, baby? I can't imagine less of an issue. Shit, I drop stuff all the time. I smashed one of my favorite plates a couple weeks ago. Luckily it broke in the sink so I didn't have to worry about Arch getting at it, but—" he shrugs. "Kiss me. And stop fucking worrying." 

The tension in Timmy's body seems to slowly unwind as they kiss; he relaxes into Armie's embrace. 

"Sleep well?" asks Armie. 

Timmy nods, and presses his lips to Armie's neck. "I'm…sorry about last night." 

Armie groans and kisses Timmy's temple; pulls him back to make eye contact. "Stop apologizing. There's nothing to apologize  _ for.  _ Now go see the puppies. They really might be chewing my laptop or something." 

In the kitchen Armie mops up the juice; gingerly collects the largest pieces of broken glass, then vacuums up the rest. Throws away the old pot of coffee, and starts a new one. Vacuums the whole room one more time, just in case questing puppy tongues, noses or paws manage to find pieces of glass he's missed. Finally, he makes his way to the office. 

Timmy's sitting in his office chair, playing tug and throw with the puppies; sometimes their enthusiastic tugging is moving the wheeled chair with him in it. He looks up, eyes bright again, cheeks pink. 

"What d'you want for breakfast?" asks Armie, smiling. "I made more coffee." 

Timmy lets Archie run off with the tug toy. "Oh, you didn't have to—you must need to get back to—" he scrambles out of the chair and gestures vaguely at Armie's laptop. 

_ He seems kind of on edge.  _

Slowly, Armie takes a seat. He touches Timmy's hip. "Hey. You good?" 

Timmy takes a step closer; then another, to stand between Armie's legs. Puts his hand on Armie's shoulder. "When I got in here Archie was standing on your chair and licking your cereal bowl." 

Armie snorts and rolls his eyes. "Great. I leave the room for ten minutes and he turns feral." 

Timmy smiles, then chews his lip. "So…should Livs and I take off? Or…" 

Armie puts his hand flat on Timmy's stomach. He's wearing Armie's t-shirt from last night, and Armie feels a softly-possessive thrill down his spine. "If you've got shit to do. Or you could stay, if you  _ like _ watching a guy work on spreadsheets and take calls." He smiles, slipping his hand under the hem of the t-shirt and stroking the soft skin beneath. "We could have lunch together." 

"So it's—okay if I stay a while?" mumbles Timmy. 

Armie tangles their fingers together. "Idiot. Go grab coffee and breakfast. Then come back." 

When Timmy returns he's carrying coffee in one hand, and a bagel in the other; holding them high so the puppies can't get at them. He curls onto Armie's lap in the office chair, making Armie laugh. 

"This seems practical." 

"M-hm." Timmy nods and takes a sip of coffee. He rests against Armie's chest. "You're a very sexy doctor." 

"Ha. Thanks. I try." Armie hesitates, heart suddenly racing at the thought of what he's about to say.  _ But he needs time to decide. He might not even want to come. He might freak out at the idea. He might not want to see me anymore, because I'm making it weird—but fuck. I have to try. _ "So, Sunday…" he starts. Curves his hand to Timmy's hip. Swallows.

Timmy looks up. "Sunday?" 

"Yeah. Uh. Tyler and his wife—Jacquie—I said I'd meet them. In the morning. And we'd—take their kids to the beach—River and Vi, they're kind of cute, but it'll be the usual alternating overexcitement and screaming tantrums, you know what it's…well. Uh." Armie takes a breath. 

Timmy nods, looking down at his coffee mug. He bites his lip, disappointment written in his drawn-down brows.

"So—literally no pressure, okay, but if you want to—they'd like to meet you. You're welcome to come with me. But also—I know it might just sound like the worst way to spend your day off, so. Don't—feel like you have to." 

Timmy's eyelashes flutter again, and he turns his head sharply towards Armie. Gives him a searching look. "Armie—"

Armie's heart sinks. "I know—dumb idea, I'm—shit, I'm sorry, there's genuinely no pressure and it was—just—in case you—"  _ Fuck, he's going to leave and not come back, I've wasted four weeks I could've had with him on one dumb invitation— _

"No, Armie, fuck, shut up, _ fuck—" _ Timmy thumps the mug down on the desk without looking and kisses him, hard. "Are you—sure?"

Armie takes a breath. "Of course I'm  _ sure.  _ And—you'd like to?" 

"Of course I'd  _ like to."  _ Timmy presses his lips to Armie's cheek. Takes a breath that doesn't sound quite steady. "Thank you." Then, "but—does this mean your mom—because we don't have to—"

Armie shakes his head; puts his hand on Timmy's knee. "So far Ty only knows I'm bringing the person I've been dating." He swallows. "I'm going to call him tomorrow. Tell him about…everything. He won't—he and Jacs are good friends. They won't spread it around the group. I trust them." 

Timmy's eyes are hazel, and a little over-bright. "Okay," he mumbles, then hesitates. Turns to Armie again, and presses his face into the crook of his neck. "Okay." 

A notification pops up on Armie's calendar, and he sighs. "Crap. Phone call in ten. I'm gonna use the bathroom, get another coffee. You'll use my Netflix or whatever, right?" 

Timmy nods, still nestled into Armie's neck. "I'll take the puppies with me." 

"Thanks." Armie huffs a laugh. "I dread to think what it'd be like taking a call with these two in the room." 

*

When Armie emerges from his phone call, there are a couple urgent follow-up emails to send; he finishes those, then stretches and picks up his coffee mug. Pads into the kitchen, laughing quietly to himself when he finds Timmy napping on the sofa under two sleepy puppies, a cartoon playing quietly in the background. 

Armie bends down over the back of the sofa, and kisses Timmy lightly on the lips. "Hey. Sleeping beauty." 

Timmy blinks, and starts. "Oh. Crap. Did I sleep again?" 

Armie grins. "Looks like it." 

"'M'sorry…" 

"Baby—" says Armie exasperatedly, then freezes. 

_ Baby.  _

_ Oh, fuck.  _

_ I said it out loud. _

_ I've been saying it out loud.  _

Timmy stretches and yawns, nose crinkling adorably. 

Armie takes a breath. "You have a whole night of no sleep to make up for this week," he says, as calmly as he can. "And you're not allowed to apologize again today, okay?" 

"What if I do something  _ really _ bad?" Timmy bites his bottom lip, flirting. 

Armie grabs Timmy's hand and places a kiss in the palm. "Guess what we're having for lunch?" 

"Oh  _ salad,"  _ whines Timmy. "I wish I'd met you at a different time of year." 

Armie snorts a laugh, walking around the sofa. The puppies leap off Timmy to greet him, Livs winding Timmy with a kick to the solar plexus in the process. 

Timmy lifts his legs and Armie sits down, reaching out to rub the place that was kicked. Clambering up, Timmy rearranges himself into Armie's lap, straddling him, fingers caressing the back of Armie's head. 

"What time of year, then, huh?" asks Armie, running both hands slowly up Timmy's back. 

Timmy thinks. "Christmas. I bet you look amazing in a chunky cable-knit sweater. Or summer. At the beach. Surfing." He looks down at Armie. "Wait—do you surf?" 

Armie smiles. "I mean, I'm not good at it. But I like it. Do you?" 

"I grew up in NYC," says Timmy humorously, looking at him askance. "No. No I don't." 

"I can teach you, if you want to learn." 

Timmy grins. "Yes. Yes, I would love to learn surfing. From you. Topless. I am sure I would pick it up extremely easily under these circumstances where I would in no way just be ogling and drooling." 

Armie rolls his eyes. "Noted. I'll wear my wetsuit." 

_ "Worse,"  _ groans Timmy. "Oh fuck. Why did you—now I've thought about you peeled halfway out of a wetsuit and uh—" 

Grinning, Armie leans in to kiss the center of Timmy's chest. He can feel himself blushing.  _ He just wants me. He likes me, and wants me, and it feels so damn good.  _

"Did you already shower?" asks Timmy, and Armie smiles to himself.  _ He's already thinking about something else.  _

"Yep. While you were sleeping." 

"I didn't. I just rolled out of bed and came to smash shit in your kitchen." Timmy strokes the curve of Armie's ear. "May I take a bath? I don't have a tub, and I really miss it." 

"Oh, of course you can." Armie rests his hands on Timmy's hips. "Interesting to see if the puppies try and get in there with you." 

_ "You  _ could get in there with me." 

"Just for a second, think about a six foot five dude trying to get in a standard tub, even alone." 

Timmy pouts. "That's fucking tragic. Can we go stay somewhere with a huge tub sometime?" 

"Pretty sure we can manage that," shrugs Armie, laughing. 

Timmy looks at him appraisingly. "I'm...kind of imagining that the chance of scented candles, bubble bath and rose petals is low?"

Armie drops his head back onto the sofa cushions and laughs. "Oh. You take baths  _ seriously, _ huh. I can do you soft music, but otherwise I'm afraid it's a no-frills bath." 

Timmy giggles and curls into his chest; kisses his neck. 

Armie's half-hard, and he pulls Timmy just a little closer by the hips.  _ Fuck. I want you.  _

"Love when you hold my hips," whispers Timmy, in Armie's ear. There's a deep catch in his voice that threatens to make Armie shiver. 

"Oh, fuck." Armie checks his watch. "I have another call in forty minutes. Baby…" 

Timmy bites Armie's cheek, a teasing graze of teeth. "Have me when you can." He touches Armie's chest, over his heart. "I'm gonna bathe." 

"You don't want salad?"

Timmy wrinkles his nose. _ "Salad…"  _

Armie grins, rubbing the pad of his thumb along Timmy's pouty bottom lip. "When I was your age I probably didn't eat salad either." 

"Ooh, when I was your age…" croaks Timmy, in a voice that suggests a tomb creaking open.

"Cheeky little  _ fucker—"  _

"You're the one that keeps saying this shit—"

Armie grins and sits up to kiss him. "I'll keep the puppies in here until my call, but then I'm letting them in the bath with you." 

Timmy snorts and bites Armie's bottom lip. "You wouldn't." 

"You're right. I wouldn't." 

Lightly, Timmy grinds down on Armie's lap. "Mon amant." 

Armie looks at him quizzically.  _ The way your voice changes when you speak French makes me dizzy.  _ "Huh?" 

"Huh?" mimics Timmy, grinning as Armie retaliates by poking him in the stomach. "It means,  _ lover."  _

"Hmm." Armie smiles. "I like that." 

Timmy's eyelashes flutter. He kisses Armie's nose. "Eat your dumb salad. I'm leaving." 

"Fine. Go on. Leave then." 

Timmy groans and slowly clambers off Armie's lap. His wriggling on the way seems needlessly provocative. "I  _ hate  _ that you have to work." 

Armie pats him on the ass as he gets up and heads to the kitchen. "Well  _ I _ have to try and talk sensibly about investment options knowing you're in my tub." 

"Naked…" 

"Shut up." 

"Wet…" 

"Asshole." Armie flashes him a grin. "Get out." 

Armie throws together a chicken salad, making a bowl for Timmy too, which he leaves in the fridge. Then he feeds the puppies their lunch and plays a game of fetch with them while he quickly eats his salad. 

Checking his watch, he washes everything up and takes the puppies downstairs, then puts them in their crates. 

The guest bathroom door stands ajar. Armie pushes it open and smiles as Timmy looks up at him from a bubbly, steaming-hot bath. His skin is flushed and dewy, his cheeks pink and his eyes bright.

_ Jesus Christ. Fuck. Why do you look like this.  _

"That water's definitely too hot for you. You're gonna be red like a boiled lobster." 

Timmy grins. "Turns out shower gel bubbles if you put it in the bath." 

"Huh. Now we know." Armie fights the urge to get closer, to run a finger along the glistening line of Timmy's arm on the side of the bath. "The pups are in their crates. They've been downstairs. And my call's about to start." 

Timmy bites his lip. "How long will it be?" 

"If she takes my advice? Like twenty minutes, plus some follow-up time. If she wants to discuss other options…" he shrugs. "It can get long." 

Timmy sighs. "Will you leave the door open so I know when you're done?" 

"Sure. Why? Gonna miss me?" teases Armie. 

"Yes. In several ways." Timmy's teeth print a sinful red crescent of marks on his bottom lip. 

"I'm leaving." Armie tries to suppress his unstoppable grin. 

"Later, mon amant." 

*

In the end, the call is pretty quick; it's a new client, and she seems content to accept Armie's recommendations with a minimum of fuss. By the time he hangs up the phone he has a half-page of notes and follow-up action points in his notebook, and he decides to tackle them right away before taking a break. 

He's halfway through an email when he hears quiet footsteps behind him. Timmy's arms slip around his shoulders, his lips press behind Armie's ear. 

Armie's heart jumps. He can't help smiling. "Good bath?" 

Timmy nods. He inhales Armie's hair, and brushes his lips against his earlobe. 

"Pups sleeping?" 

Timmy nods again. He puts his lips to Armie's ear. "Did you know you have another voice for work?" he murmurs. 

Armie swallows. "No. I—no." He swivels his chair around towards Timmy. 

"You do. It's calm, and clear, and businesslike." There's a towel wrapped around Timmy's hips, but that's all he's wearing. His cock is a hard line visible beneath the thick material. "It's a little deeper than your normal voice." Timmy kneels down between Armie's legs. He rests his palms flat on his own thighs, and lowers his eyes, sweetly submissive. "May I suck you?" 

Armie's hard in seconds, the zipper of his work pants pressing uncomfortably against his rigid cock. "Of course," he manages, keeping his voice as level as he can. Reaching out, he touches Timmy's chin, brings his gaze up. "You asked beautifully, baby." He watches the flash of arousal in Timmy's eyes, the quick press of lips suppressing an audible breath. 

"Thank you," whispers Timmy. "I always want to be good for you." 

"I know." Armie reminds himself to suit his posture and body language to the role, to what Timmy's asking for. He opens his legs wider, spreading his knees. "You made a good start." 

Timmy kneels up, placing his hands tentatively on Armie's thighs. Holding eye contact, he slowly slips out the button and draws down the zipper of Armie's pants. Leans forward and presses his face to the hard line of Armie's cock in his boxers. Inhales deeply, letting his eyes close. Sits back on his heels and pulls down the boxers and pants just enough to expose Armie's flushed cock. 

Timmy licks his lips, and bends his head. 

The first stroke of Timmy's tongue nearly makes Armie gasp; he has to control himself in order not to let the sound escape. Timmy's wasting no time; he licks his hand and wraps it around the base of Armie's cock, meets it with his mouth, and starts to move in long, slick, luxurious strokes. His head bobs in Armie's lap and the  _ picture  _ of it imprints itself in incredulous snatches on Armie's memory: Timmy's red lips, his delicate fingers, the flutter of his eyelashes and the flush of his cheeks—

_ Fuck. Oh, fuck. I can't believe he wants me like this.  _

Armie reaches out and runs a finger along Timmy's jaw. "You look perfect, baby." 

Timmy shivers and shuffles closer, fingers twisting in Armie's shirt. 

Armie watches, losing track of time, feeling himself getting closer, pleasure winding tighter by the second in his stomach and thighs. He misses Timmy though, too; wants him close, wants him shuddering in bliss—

He touches Timmy's cheek. "Come here. Come here to me." 

Timmy looks up. His eyes are deep hazel-green, and express his surprise. He pulls back, hand still wrapped around the base of Armie's cock. "Isn't it good?" he asks, meekly. "I can—" 

Armie almost laughs. "Fuck, no—" he controls his immediate reaction. "I want you here." He pats his knee, and looks steadily at Timmy. "I want to watch you fall apart."

Timmy takes a quick breath. Stands up, hands hesitating on the towel at his waist.

"Take it off," says Armie, calmly. 

Timmy fumbles the towel free, and it falls to the ground. 

Armie takes both his hands; kisses his palms and draws him in to straddle his lap in the chair. Reaching up, he pulls Timmy down into a kiss that starts soft and changes into something desperate, biting, needy—

Timmy's hard, and Armie can feel how still he is—still in a deliberate, careful way that suggests self-control, rather than relaxation. 

Armie puts his hands on Timmy's hips. "Touch us." 

Timmy's gaze flies to his; he asks for permission with his eyes as he shuffles forward, aligning their hips. 

Armie nods, almost imperceptibly.  _ Yes. Good, baby. I want you to feel good too.  _

Timmy licks his hand again; shivers and almost groans when he wraps his fingers around them both. 

It's a completely new feeling to Armie; he's seen it in porn—the few clips with two men that he's actually allowed himself to watch, usually threesomes with a woman present—but it was never given a lot of screen time. He's surprised by how different it is to just being touched, how intense, how intimate.

Timmy licks his lips and throws back his head. His hips cant as if to thrust, but he controls himself again. He makes eye contact. "Is it good for you?" he asks docilely, a deep whisper. "I don't know if my hand is—is enough—" 

"Maybe," Armie covers Timmy's hand with his own, "—like this." 

_ Fuck. Timmy—Timothée—how can you be so beautiful, and so prepared to give yourself to me, to someone like me— _

Armie caresses Timmy's hip with his other hand; digs his fingernails lightly in. Watches as Timmy's eyelashes flutter shut with it, as he tries to hold back a sigh of pleasure. 

"Let me see your eyes." Armie tightens his grip over Timmy's, and rolls his hips a little. "Keep them open for me." 

Timmy shudders as he opens them; reaches out for Armie's shoulder, fingers restless, winding into the fabric of his shirt—

Armie drifts in pleasure, in the intense hazel of Timmy's gaze, in the building tension throughout his whole body. Their hands are warm and slick, and he realizes it's precome from one or both of them. There's a physical tug of desperate arousal in his stomach at the thought. 

Armie runs his hand slowly up Timmy's side; traces the line of a rib, circles a nipple. Rests the pad of his thumb in the dip at the base of Timmy's neck. Leans in to lick and graze his teeth across Timmy's nipples, first one then the other.

Timmy's watching him, gaze wondering, and his hips stutter as Armie moves against him, with him. There's a little frown between his brows; his lips are red, bitten, parted. 

Armie rests his thumb on Timmy's lips; finds it kissed. A smile ignites between them. Timmy opens for him, and licks. Armie presses his thumb inside, just a little. Draws slick wetness across Timmy's bottom lip. 

"Please," whispers Timmy. It's a broken little sound. "I'm sorry. Please." 

"You need to come, baby?" Armie returns his hand to Timmy's hip. 

Timmy nods. His fingers knot themselves into Armie's shoulder, a sweet little twist of pain in the pleasure. "Please," he breathes. "May I?" 

"Of course, baby. Keep your eyes open for me, though. Can you do that?" 

Timmy bites his lip, and nods. "But—but your shirt—I'll make a mess of it—" 

Armie urges Timmy forward into a harder rocking motion that makes him swallow a moan. "Just this once," he says, "I'll forgive you." 

"Armie—Armie—" 

"Your  _ eyes,  _ baby. Keep them open. Just for me. Come on now. Be good." 

And Timmy groans his name again; thrusts once more and starts to come helplessly, clinging to Armie's shoulder, to his shirt. 

Try as he might, Armie can't hold back. The sight of Timmy coming apart in his lap is too much. He falls and falls, and watches it all in Timmy's eyes. 

When it's over, Timmy's panting, his eyes almost pleading. 

Armie touches his cheek. Smiles. "You did it, baby. You kept your eyes open for me. So good. You did so good." 

_ Your beautiful eyes.  _

Something in Timmy's expression seems to crumple; he falls forward into Armie's embrace, burying his face against his neck. Slowly, Armie sits up, cradling him. 

_ Fuck. Is he okay?  _

"Baby? Tim. Hey." There's no answer. Timmy's very still, very quiet. "Are you—are you okay?" 

"You  _ see _ me," mumbles Timmy, quietly. "I just—" 

Armie covers the nape of Timmy's neck with his hand. "Of course I see you, Tim. Of  _ course  _ I do." 

"You always give me what I need," whispers Timmy. There's a catch in his voice. 

"I just can't believe you—trust me."  _ Enough to ask. Enough to show me what you need.  _

Timmy takes a breath, and presses his lips to Armie's neck. 

"Hey, baby?" Armie smiles. 

"Mmm?" 

"Wasn't much point you taking that bath, was there?" 

Timmy huffs a tiny laugh. Wriggles in Armie's lap. "I ruined your shirt." 

"Not  _ ruined.  _ Just—painted. And it wasn't only you, was it?" 

"D'you have to work more?" 

"I can half-ass it now. Just a couple emails to finish, then we could play a game or something? Take the puppies for a walk?" 

"Mmm." Timmy yawns. "I don't even know what time it is now." 

Armie hesitates. "Hey. If you want, you could leave Livs with me tonight? Come back here, after work?" Armie's heart trips over itself.  _ Too much?  _ "I know we won't have much time in the morning because you have two shows, but…" he half-shrugs. "If you want to. You're—you're welcome." 

Timmy peels himself off Armie's chest and looks at him, half-frowning. "You don't mind? Looking after her?" 

"'Course not." 

"I mean—yeah, if you're  _ s—" _

"Good." Armie pulls him into a kiss. "I'm gonna change and finish these last couple emails, okay? And—" he runs his fingers across Timmy's stomach, "—I guess you need another shower." 

Timmy grins at him, suddenly mischievous. "I could...not. Keep us here, on my skin. Show us off on stage." 

"Little fucker. You know exactly how to get me." 

Timmy leans in and licks across Armie's lips. "I'm sorry." 

"No you're not." 

They grin at one another and—groaning at the stretch of their cramped limbs—unwind themselves slowly from the chair. 

*

"Mm?" mumbles Armie, trying to open his eyes. It's dark in the bedroom, he can make that out, and there are Timmy's cold feet, his cool hands, his lips at Armie's shoulder—

"I said, 'honey, I'm home'," whispers Timmy, and it sounds like he's smiling. "I took the puppies out one more time, so we have a little longer in the morning." 

"'D'you eat something?" mumbles Armie. "Leftover meatball pasta in the fridge, if…" 

Timmy cuddles up behind him, purring a contented sigh. "I know. I ate it." 

Armie lifts the hand that comes to rest in the center of his chest, and kisses it. "'Night, baby." 

Slipping gently into sleep, the last thing he hears is Timmy saying something in French—something he doesn't quite catch before he's totally unconscious.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your wonderful, kind comments 💙

Armie doesn't mean to wake particularly early on Saturday morning, but he sees 6:02 on his phone screen when he gropes for it on the nightstand. 

As he pushes the duvet away, warm, slick nausea twists in his gut. 

_ I still don't know what I'm going to say to Tyler. Should I try and—plan it? Or just wing it and hope for the best?  _

He swallows, and gets up. Timmy stirs a little as he does so, and Armie watches him until he settles again. 

Pulling on boxers, jeans and a t-shirt, Armie grabs his laundry hamper and adds Timmy's boxers and t-shirt to it.  _ I'll wash and dry them for today.  _

He tries to keep busy. Sets the laundry going, starts coffee brewing, and tries not to think about what's to come. Takes the puppies downstairs, and plays with them. Instigates a game of fetch back up in the apartment that soon devolves into play-fighting between the puppies. Distracts them, eventually, with their breakfast. 

After a while, he can't take it anymore. He doesn't even want the coffee he's made. He grabs his phone and texts Tyler. 

Armie:  **Up? I'll call whenever's good for you**

Tyler:  **Been up with the kids for an hour 😂👍 call**

Armie's stomach lurches, but he thinks about Timmy saying  _ he never introduced me to anyone.  _

_ The only way out is through. _

He starts a FaceTime call. 

"Hi," says Tyler, picking up quickly. His hair's a mess; he's wearing an oversized, crumpled linen shirt, with what looks like some of the kids' breakfast on it. He grins. "Alright?" 

Armie nods.  _ No.  _ "How are the kids?" 

Tyler swings the camera, and the pixelated whirl resolves into the sight of River and Vi on the sofa, jumping up and down brandishing what look like a Barbie horse and a model bus. 

"They're meant to be watching their programme  _ quietly," _ calls Tyler loudly, but Armie can hear the grin in his voice. 

"Hmm. They seem good." 

Tyler swings the camera back around, and brings a coffee cup to his lips. "You sure you're okay? You look…" 

_ Like I'm going to throw up? Yeah, well.  _ Armie shrugs. 

"It'll be cool to meet your new girlfriend tomorrow," grins Tyler, and Armie closes his eyes. 

"I—actually, we need to—talk about that." Slowly, Armie opens them again. 

Tyler blinks, frowning slightly. He's walking over to the breakfast bar, and taking a seat. "Yeah?" 

"I—" Armie's mouth is dry. He swallows, stomach knotting itself. "I've—been dating." 

"Yeah, you—" 

"Ty." Armie half-shakes his head. "Just—" 

"Sorry." Tyler must be able to tell Armie's struggling. He goes quiet, still frowning. 

"Please, I—I really need to be sure that only you and Jacs will—I trust you guys, I just—I'm not ready for anyone else to...yet,  _ especially  _ not my mom, and if Liz—" 

Tyler holds up a hand. "Armie. C'mon, man. Tell me what's up. We're not gonna pass it on to anyone." He looks slightly worried, now, and Armie wonders what he's thinking. 

Armie draws a quick, shallow breath. His hands are hot and clammy. "It's—not a girlfriend, Ty. I'm dating a guy. He's—his name's Timmy." 

Tyler's face is a picture of surprise; but it changes quickly to relief, and then his usual wholehearted grin. "And that's—it?" 

Armie swallows. "What d'you mean, 'that's it'?" 

"Well—you looked so sick I worried you had cancer or something." 

Armie blinks, then rubs his eyes. He can't help it; he laughs, a bubble of slightly hysterical relief bursting in his chest. "Fuck. No. No cancer. That I know of, anyway." Quickly, he adds, "he's—younger than me. Twenty-one. Like—eight years younger. Nearly nine." 

Tyler shrugs. "Like me and Jacs then." 

_ Oh fuck. Yeah, that's true, isn't it?  _ Something about the comparison hits Armie in the chest like a blow.  _ And Tyler and Jacquie are a proper couple. A team. Two kids.  _ He licks his lips. "Well it's...early days. You know." 

"Oh come on. The way you were blushing when I saw you the other day—" 

"Argh. Shut up." Armie rubs his stubbly jaw and cheek bashfully. 

"You wouldn't introduce him to us if you didn't like him," Tyler says, comfortably. Then, "you do know I've dated a couple guys in the past?" 

Armie blinks. "I—no. I—didn't, actually." 

Tyler shrugs. "I mean—'dated'." He makes air quotes. "Nothing committed. But life's short, sex is good, and people are beautiful." 

Huffing a laugh, Armie opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

"I'm just saying, you don't need to worry that I'm…" Tyler waves a hand. "And Jacs knows my history. Neither of us give a shit, okay?" 

Armie's throat is tight with emotion. Hot tears prickle behind his eyes. "Okay," he manages. 

"But I know that's not your mom's deal," adds Tyler. "And it won't go any further." 

"I—at some point, I'm gonna—I will tell her…" mumbles Armie. "I just—I'm not ready. Yet." 

Tyler nods. "That's up to you," he says firmly. "Not anyone else." Then, half-humorously, "for fuck's sake don't tell Nick until you  _ are _ ready." 

Armie snorts a laugh, feeling his eyes fill. He blinks the tears back, and smiles at Tyler. "I won't." 

"So you're bringing the puppy, right?" asks Tyler, through another gulp of coffee. "The kids won't forgive you if you don't." 

"Well. Timmy and I met at puppy class, so. Actually, two puppies. But they're kind of crazy, so we can always leave them with a sitter—" 

Tyler shakes his head. "No  _ way.  _ We'll just make sure the kids don't get too crazy with them. They'll love them, seriously." 

Armie shrugs. "Well, whatever works for you g—"

There's a plaintive cry of "Daddy!" from one of the kids, and Tyler's attention slips. 

"What?" 

"Vi keeps changing the channel and I can't watch my—" 

Tyler sighs. "Shit. I have to go. Text you later, with timings and stuff?" 

Armie smiles, and nods. "Sure. Ty—"  _ thank you. Thank you so much.  _

Tyler grins at him, then blows him a big, smacking kiss. "Tomorrow! Bye!" 

Armie hangs up, and drops his phone next to him on the sofa. 

Leaning his elbows on his knees, he knots his fingers behind his neck and takes a long, unsteady breath. Lets his head hang between his shoulders. His vision blurs, two large tears dropping onto the rug below. Closing his eyes against the next wave of tears, he feels Archie's rough little head butting curiously at his arm, his side— 

"Armie? Shit—sweetie—" suddenly Timmy's hands are in his hair, on his shoulders. There are fingers on his cheeks, then Armie feels Timmy's knees touch his calves as he crouches down to see his face—

"Don't," mutters Armie. "Shit—sorry—" 

"Are you  _ actually _ apologizing to me right now," murmurs Timmy, stroking Armie's cheeks. "I'm gonna lie on you, and there's nothing you can do about it." He pushes Armie up onto the sofa, making him lie down, and plasters himself along his side, hooking one leg across his stomach. 

Armie keeps his eyes closed, huffing a wet laugh when he feels puppy paws start to trample across his legs. "'S'that Arch?" 

"Yeah. He's worried about you. Livs is just staring at you from the floor." 

"I think you mean he wants to lick the salt off my face." 

"Oh, yeah, that'll be it. He's definitely not worried about his dad, who's doing a new thing and not looking at him." Timmy kisses Armie's cheek. He takes a breath, and then there's a hesitation. "Were—were you talking to Tyler?" 

Armie presses his lips together, frowning to try and hold back more tears. He can feel them prickling hotly behind his eyes. "Yes," he manages, at last. 

"Was it—okay?" asks Timmy tentatively. 

Armie nods. Despite his best efforts, a couple more tears slip from beneath his eyelids, and he feels Timmy's lips meet one of them. "I know it—probably doesn't seem like it…" he mumbles. "But—yeah." He feels Archie sit down on his legs, balancing awkwardly. 

"Can I see you?" whispers Timmy, kissing the corner of Armie's eye. 

Armie huffs a groan and wipes his eyes fiercely with the heel of his hand before he opens them. "Did I wake you?" 

Timmy shakes his head; leans in and kisses him quickly. "I just woke," he shrugs. He bites his lip. "He was—the first person you came out to? The first—friend, I mean?" 

Armie shrugs and nods. "Apart from you. Yeah." 

Timmy gives him a look. 

"Hey. You're my friend, aren't you?" asks Armie, on a little half-laugh. "As well as…the other stuff." 

Smiling, Timmy kisses Armie's cheek. "And…are you okay?" 

"I didn't—I didn't know it would be so…I mean—I was nervous—shitting myself—but—" Armie takes a breath. "Fuck. I don't think I can be coherent right now." 

"Did you have breakfast?" Timmy's hand falls to Armie's stomach, and rubs it. 

Armie huffs ruefully. "No. I didn't even want coffee. Thought I was gonna hurl." 

"Hmm. Then I'm going to make you breakfast, and coffee, and you're going to be sat on by puppies while I do it." 

Armie huffs a laugh, swallowing against more tears. "Thanks, baby." 

Timmy kisses him lightly, and rolls off the sofa. "I don't even know what your favorite breakfast is." 

"What, if I'm not worrying about being a greasy year-end gremlin?" 

Timmy points at him. "Shut up—" 

Armie holds up his hands as Livvy and Archie walk over him, fending them off as they try to lick his face. "I  _ told _ you they want the salt—" 

_ "Breakfast,  _ Hammer." 

"Well, pancakes. With bacon and syrup. Or waffles. Can't decide." 

Timmy bites his lip. "You love everything with bacon and syrup. Do you have pancake mix? And also, I uh— _ might _ be really terrible at cooking." 

Armie huffs a laugh, and sits up. Gently rearranges the puppies so they stay on the sofa without him. Pads over to Timmy. "I do have pancake mix. In that cupboard." 

Timmy wraps his arms around Armie's waist. "Sorry—" 

"Don't." Armie caresses Timmy's curls.  _ I'd rather be here anyway. I just want to touch you all the time.  _ Slowly, he rests his lips on the top of Timmy's head, and takes a long, slow breath. Even though it went well, he's shaken by his conversation with Tyler, by the deliberate self-revelation it had involved.

_ Guess I've rarely done that before. Even with the people I count as closest to me.  _

Timmy rubs his hands over Armie's back. Hesitates, fingers just under the edge of Armie's t-shirt. "Can I—" 

_ He's worried I might not want him to touch my skin, just after I've come out.  _ Armie has a flash of memory: his therapist asking about how he feels after intimacy. Whether he feels self-disgust.  _ Has Timmy been with someone like that before? Or ever—felt it himself?  _

"Mmm," sighs Armie, nodding. He leans back against the counter as Timmy slips his hands under his t-shirt, and gently runs them up and down his back; moves them round to caress his sides, his ribs. 

Timmy bends his head to kiss the center of Armie's chest. 

They make pancakes quietly, moving around one another; Armie stands behind Timmy as they start dropping the mixture into the pan, showing him how to keep it at the right temperature, how to know when to flip the pancake. 

"Do you  _ have  _ bacon?" asks Timmy, late in the process. 

Armie presses his smile to Timmy's shoulder. "Nope." 

"Oh, Armie—you should've told me—I can go to the store—" 

Armie laughs quietly, tightening his hand on Timmy's hip. "I have strawberries, and grapes, and syrup. I'm good. And I only need one guess at what  _ you  _ put on your pancakes, French boy." 

"Tais-toi." Timmy nudges Armie with his ass. He cranes his head to the side, asking silently for neck kisses. 

Armie obliges, brushing his lips across the pale skin, skimming from freckle to freckle. 

"Wash the fruit, mon beau?" asks Timmy, reaching back to caress Armie's hair. 

Armie nods, and makes to break away. Timmy groans and grabs his hand. 

Huffing a laugh, Armie kisses his neck one last time. "I'm going to the fridge. Like you told me." 

"I know, I know. By the way, did you steal my boxers? I'm commando right now." 

Armie curls his arm around Timmy's waist. "Crap, yeah, I need to put the laundry in the dryer." 

The puppies are  _ very  _ interested in the concept of pancakes, putting their paws up on Armie and Timmy's knees as they sit at the table, sniffing wildly after the new and delicious smell. 

"Livs,  _ off," _ orders Timmy, pushing her away as she scrabbles at his knee, attempting to pull herself up to eye-level with the plates. 

Armie chuckles, watching. "We're so cruel." 

"I know. Not letting them eat our breakfast." Timmy sighs. "So there's a new understudy for my role starting today, just to cover the last—uh—couple weeks. The other guy has to leave. Some family thing." 

Armie's stomach goes cold.  _ Last couple weeks. _ He swallows a mouthful of pancake and strawberry. "Yeah?" he asks, as casually as he can. "That involve extra work for you?" 

Timmy shrugs. "He's just watching today, but come next week we'll need to do a couple read-throughs. Might mean a bit more time at the theater." 

Armie smiles, trying to look unbothered.  _ I need every minute with you, every second, every snatched moment of time I can get— _

"Hey, no worries if not, I know you may need to go home and get your stuff, but it's cool if you want to leave Livs here again today," says Armie. He keeps his gaze on his pancakes. "Come back here later. I mean," he adds quickly, "if Saoirse won't be offended." 

Timmy laughs. His socked foot sneaks onto Armie's bare one. "Pretty sure she'll be glad. But—won't you want to like, go to the gym or something?" 

Armie shrugs. "I'll take them for a run. And I can always do a workout here." 

"You'll take  _ both the puppies  _ for a run.  _ Together?" _

Laughing, Armie finishes a mouthful of pancake. "I mean. I'll try." 

Timmy hesitates. "I could...text Saoirse. See if she wants to come take them for a walk. Then you could have some time  _ not  _ being a dog dad."

Armie catches the look Timmy's giving him: tentative, a little cautious.  _ Why's he looking at me like that?  _ "D'you think she'd want to?" he asks, surprised. 

Timmy shrugs. "Well. She loves Livs." 

"Yeah, but I don't think she trusts  _ me. _ She might not want to walk Arch." 

Timmy huffs a laugh. "I don't think she'll trust  _ anyone  _ with me after what Léo did. For a while, anyway." He blushes and looks down at his plate. "I don't have to. Just—it's a lot, being alone with two puppies for hours. And you had them all last night, so…" 

_ Shit, I'm being too much, aren't I? I'm forcing too much time together, and being creepy—  _

"Actually I guess you probably need to go home, grab a bathing suit and clothes," Armie mumbles.  _ Sorry. Fuck.  _

"Armie…" Timmy drops his fork, and reaches for Armie's hand. "What did you just hear when I said that about Saoirse coming over?" 

_ You've asked me that before,  _ thinks Armie. He bites his lip, not looking up. "I—figured maybe I was—being a bit too…" he swallows, "—much. Pushy." 

Timmy presses his toes against Armie's ankle. Traces his thumb across the knuckles of Armie's left hand. "I wasn't thinking that." He takes a breath, then hesitates. "Actually I was—kind of clumsily—trying to get Saoirse to spend a bit more time with you. I think if she sees you…y'know, gets to know you…she might—lighten up a bit." 

Quickly, Armie glances up at Timmy from under his eyelashes. His cheeks are pink, and he's wriggling in his chair. 

_ He's trying to introduce me to his friend, too.  _

Armie turns his hand over on the table, and caresses Timmy's fingers. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. 

"No, I—I should've just said what I was thinking," says Timmy. "And,  _ bathing suit?  _ Jesus, Armie. It's  _ April."  _

Armie snorts, and looks up. "You probably wear a bathing suit on the beach like twice a year, don't you?" 

Timmy grins. "If that. Am I disappointing?" 

"Very." Armie tugs on Timmy's fingers.  _ Come here.  _

Timmy leaves his seat and steps closer; climbs into Armie's lap. Kisses Armie lightly, then with more pressure—

"Fuck—Arch,  _ no,"  _ says Armie, reaching over. "Archie.  _ No. Archie—"  _

Timmy snorts and jumps up to grab Archie. "Archie, off—" he hustles him down off the chair. "Cheeky little shit—" 

Armie snorts and puts his hand over his eyes. "Maybe you should just finish your pancakes. Jesus, Arch. Way to embarrass your dad." 

Archie just wags at him. 

Timmy giggles, and comes to sit in Armie's lap, with his pancakes. "Why do puppies have to be such cockblockers all the time?" 

Laughing, Armie slips his arm around Timmy's waist. "Still better than kids, right?  _ Don't _ think you can just cage your kids everytime you want to go to bed." 

Through a mouthful of Nutella pancake, Timmy laughs. "Yeah, yeah. Probably not." After a second, he adds. "So…Tyler's kids are how old?" 

Armie squints in an awkward effort of memory. "River's about to turn three, and Vi's just turned one." 

Timmy puts his fork down, and half-turns his head to Armie. "I haven't really…hung out with any kids in a while." He sounds nervous. 

Armie shakes his head. "Well, Tyler made me promise we'll bring the puppies, so I kind of imagine we'll be busy keeping them under control." 

Timmy puffs out a breath. "Jesus. Yeah. I've never tried Livs with kids—" 

"Well, it has to be good for their training," shrugs Armie. "I just hope it's not  _ total  _ chaos." 

"We'll have to make sure they don't get too much exercise." 

Armie rolls his eyes. "Shit, yeah. We'll probably have to hold them down, after half an hour." He pulls a grape off the bunch and holds it to Timmy's lips. "Here, baby." 

"Always feeding me nutritious things," murmurs Timmy, licking Armie's fingertips as he takes the grape. 

Armie grins and kisses Timmy's back. "Are you being filthy?" 

Wriggling, Timmy huffs a laugh. Flops back into Armie's arms. "I  _ never _ am." 

"I mean, you  _ look _ cute and innocent. But I think I know better." Then, quietly, "thank you for making me pancakes."

Timmy sighs. Turns his head to kiss Armie's cheek. "I mean, you had to show me how to make them." 

Catching Timmy's lips in a kiss, Armie demurs. "But you still made them for me." 

"I should go get ready," groans Timmy, turning Armie's wrist to check his watch. 

Armie hesitates. He wants to stay close, but doesn't want to be too much. 

Timmy winds their fingers together. "Want to come with me, mon amant?" 

Resting his head on Timmy's shoulder, Armie nods.  _ Yes please.  _ "Think the puppies will be okay here?" 

Timmy grins. "If we put all the plates in the sink, yeah." 

As they clear up, Timmy keeps a hand on Armie's waist or back, touching him unobtrusively all the time. 

In the bedroom, Armie strips off his t-shirt quickly, then goes to brush his teeth. "You need to borrow another t-shirt?" he asks, through his toothbrush. 

Timmy smiles and grabs his own toothbrush. "Yes please. Shit, maybe I  _ should _ go grab some stuff later. I shouldn't meet Tyler wearing your clothes." 

"'S'wrong wi'my clothes?" protests Armie. 

"They're like four sizes too big?" grins Timmy. "You realize the guys at the theater are gonna ream me for turning up wearing the same jeans and someone else's t-shirt  _ again."  _

_ Have you told them it's just one someone else?  _ wonders Armie.  _ Or do they think it's a bunch of one-night things?  _

Timmy spits toothpaste into the sink. "They keep teasing me I'm dating a bear because his clothes are so big." 

Armie spits too, and washes out his mouth. Lets pleasure and surprise thrill through him.  _ They know it's one person.  _ "Do I need to grow a beard?" he asks, catching Timmy's eye in the mirror. 

"I'm sure you'd still look cute, but no. Imagine the state of my chin." Timmy rinses and drops his toothbrush back into the glass. 

"True." Pinching Timmy's chin gently between finger and thumb, Armie bends to kiss it. "Poor—abused—chin—" 

Timmy giggles and wraps his arms around Armie's shoulders. "Get in the shower, you." 

He lets Armie wash his curls, fingers gently running through the strands under the water, making sure there's no shampoo left in. 

Armie allows himself to get lost in the task, focusing only on this, here, with Tim. Not letting himself think or worry about anything—everything—else. 

Turning, Timmy gently pushes Armie back against the wall; his eyes are intense hazel-green, a little questioning. He lets his fingers play softly around Armie's waist, stroking the skin, circling his bellybutton. 

Armie realizes that he's half-hard, just from having Timmy close and naked, from touching him and washing his hair. 

"Can I touch you?" asks Timmy, and this time it's not submission behind his question. 

_ He's cautious of pushing me,  _ thinks Armie.  _ He doesn't want to push me too far after I came out.  _ "What about you?" he asks.

"Mon beau, I'm talking about  _ you,"  _ Timmy says, rolling his eyes fondly. He hesitates. "Actually I—might wait." For a moment there's extra meaning in his gaze, and Armie almost shivers with it. 

_ He wants to be looked after when he gets home.  _ He reaches out and touches Timmy's jaw. Strokes his cheek with his thumb. "Sure." 

Timmy leans in and kisses Armie's neck. His fingers tease Armie's hipbone, the side of his buttock. "Let me touch you." 

Slowly, Armie relaxes; leans back against the wall, and watches as Timmy kisses his collarbone, his chest, his nipple. Lays his hand across the back of Timmy's neck. 

When Timmy touches him, it's gentle at first; a loose ring of fingers around his cock, a slow, smooth stroke as Armie hardens at his touch. 

Armie pulls Timmy up to kiss him, and loses himself to the rhythm of it, to the slow sensuality of every movement. He can't help exploring, too; running his fingers over Timmy's shoulders, down his arms, over his ribs and sides and hipbones. His buttocks and thighs, the slim straight flow of his hips. The curve of his lower back, up to the sharp lines of his shoulderblades. His neck, and cupping his jaw with both hands—

It's only when he gets there that he realizes Timmy's eyes are fixed on his, watching him with a kind of wondering intensity. 

_ You're beautiful,  _ Armie thinks. He feels himself blush. Arousal and need twist fiercely in his stomach, coiling tighter steadily, slowly, as Timmy keeps touching him. 

He presses his lips to Timmy's, still cradling his face in both hands. Closes his eyes.  _ Say it. _ "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers, into Timmy's mouth. 

Timmy makes a soft little noise in his throat; kisses Armie with heat and passion. The pace of his strokes increases, and he's hard against Armie's hip. "You're making it difficult to wait," he says, with a wry little grin. There are droplets from the shower in his eyelashes, his eyebrows. 

Armie smiles. "You don't  _ have  _ to." 

Timmy nuzzles against Armie's left palm. "You'll make it so good for me." 

_ I hope so.  _ Armie holds back a groan as Timmy tightens his grip and increases the pace yet again. "Fuck. Timmy…" 

"Don't hold back on me, Armie." Timmy's voice is coaxing and commanding in equal measure. "I want you to feel good." 

Armie gasps a laugh, pressing his forehead to Timmy's. "Not sure I could hold back if I tried." 

Timmy grins.  _ "Good."  _ His strokes are long, smooth and tight; he touches Armie's hip. "Move for me." 

_ He wants me to fuck his fist.  _ Armie's eyes close with the wave of arousal that accompanies the thought, but he opens them again because the way Timmy's watching him is too good to miss. 

Slowly, Armie thrusts his hips forward. It takes a few seconds but then they find the rhythm, the counterpoint of thrust and stroke—Armie swallows a groan, and kisses Timmy fiercely, desperately—

Timmy's fingers stay at his hip, urging him on, and Armie feels everything in a blur of pleasure, every touch to his skin sensitive, even the glancing caress of the water. Every nerve is alight, and when Timmy leans in and sucks a kiss into Armie's chest it's a biting, stinging little thing that mixes pain and pleasure so indelibly that Armie loses the line, loses control, thrusts and comes and groans and rests his head on Timmy's, lost. 

Timmy rinses them both, and kisses him, biting his bottom lip. 

"Fuck you," mumbles Timmy, grinning. Grabs Armie's hand, and wraps it around his own hard cock. Gasps, and teases himself with a rocking thrust. "Why do you have to be so fucking pretty when you come?" 

Armie laughs, breathless, and steals another kiss. Tightens his hand. "I told you, you don't have to wait." 

Timmy looks from under his lashes. His cheeks are pink, his voice husky. "Now tell me I  _ do?" _

Armie touches Timmy's face, and gives him a soft, sweet smile. Collects himself. "Stop, baby." 

"Stop?" asks Timmy, on a gasp. His hips are still moving, just a little. 

"I know you can wait until later, Tim." Armie says. "I know you can be so good for me." 

Timmy makes a tiny whining noise, low in his throat. Stops moving. "I can, for you." 

Armie waits; Timmy doesn't move. Both hands travel to Timmy's sharp-cut jaw. "Good boy. You are. You're so good for me, and I'm so proud of you. You'll stay good today, yes? And when you come home…" 

Timmy looks up at him, trustingly. "I'll need you." 

"I know, baby. I'll be here." 

They get dressed, Timmy roaming off to the kitchen to grab his boxers from the dryer. 

Slowly, Timmy collects his stuff for work. He's wearing a white t-shirt of Armie's. 

Armie can't stop himself reaching out to touch: Timmy's hair, his shoulders, his hip as he passes. 

_ Stop it. He's probably sick of you grabbing at him.  _ He tries to back off, tries to focus on which shirt he's going to wear—

"This one," smiles Timmy, slipping his arms around Armie's waist. It's a blue button-up plaid. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Kissing between Armie's shoulderblades, Timmy pushes himself away, and sighs. "You sure about keeping Livs?" 

Armie turns to him. "Of course. You—you should text Saoirse. See if she does want to walk them. It'd—be nice to meet her properly." 

Timmy grins. "You look terrified." 

"Fuck, I am. She's terrifying." 

Timmy puts his hand in the center of Armie's chest. "She just loves me." 

Armie swallows. "I know."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so lucky to have such thoughtful, kind comments from my readers. Thank you for being here ❤️

By the time Saoirse arrives, Armie actually is ready for a break from the puppies. He's had a headache for a couple hours—he blames having cried in the morning—and constantly breaking up puppy play-fights is beginning to grate on his patience. He's nearly finished cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast—with many interruptions and digressions into puppy-training—when the apartment buzzer goes. 

Armie swallows and runs his hand through his hair; fixes the collar on his shirt.

"Hey," he says. Saoirse's on the screen, pointed chin jutting forward in the usual fierce-looking way. 

"Hi. Shall I—" 

He buzzes her in before she can finish the sentence. 

When she appears at his door, he's got Livs on her lead and Archie by the collar. Saoirse laughs as both puppies scrabble to be allowed to jump all over her. 

"Oh, Livs, you great lump—and this is—" 

"Archie." 

"Yes, Archie, I know, I'm sorry boy,  _ how  _ could I forget your name when you're so precious?  _ How  _ could I? I know. I know." She ruffles her fingers under Archie's ears, and scratches around his collar. 

"Tea?" asks Armie. "Coffee?" 

Saoirse straightens up, ignoring the leaping puppies. Her glance darts around the apartment. "No, you're alright thanks. I'll probably just get out wi'these two. Seems like they have a lot of energy to get rid of. Is it about a half-hour walk you're doing, now?" 

Armie nods. "You're sure you're good with both of them? They can be—more than a handful." 

She gives him a measured little smile. "My family always had dogs growing up. I've seen the puppy stage a couple times." 

_ Right. Got it. Shut up.  _ Armie smiles and goes to fetch Archie's leash and harness.

By the time he's got Archie into his harness and on the leash, Livvy is sniffing excitedly at the door. Armie passes Saoirse bags and a box of treats. 

"Thanks," she says. There's a miniscule hesitation, then, "I'll take you up on that tea when I'm back." 

"Right. Uh. Cool." Armie winces as he shuts the door behind her. 

Half an hour isn't really long enough to start a workout. He has a sudden urge to play piano for the first time in a while, and spends some time reminding himself of a piece he'd been learning months ago. 

Timmy:  **did saoirse make it? **

Armie:  **Yeah she's out with them now. Hope they're not being a pain in the ass **

Timmy:  **they would never ** 🙄 

Armie:  **Ha. All good? **

Timmy:  **what you up to? **

Armie:  **Are you hoping I'm mid-workout? ** ☺️ 

Timmy:  **………kinda**

Armie:  **Sorry baby. Just playing the piano **

Timmy:  **oh 😍😍😍 video?**

Armie:  **So out of practice… **

Timmy:  **doug. mon amant. s'il te plaît** 😍 

Armie:  **🙄🙄 **

Timmy:  **vidéo, mon beau?**

Armie:  **What does that one mean?**

Timmy:  **handsome** 😉😍

Armie records a tiny section of himself playing the right hand. 

Armie:  **[video]**

Armie:  **Flattery gets you everywhere.**

Timmy: 🙌🙌🙌  **will you play the whole piece for me? **

Armie:  **I'll need a lot more practice. My hands barely remember how to work together.**

Timmy: 🤔🤔  **seems wrong **

Armie blushes and sends Timmy a picture of himself rolling his eyes. 

Timmy:  **rewarding me with selfies huh**

Armie:  **I feel like my terrible playing deserves a selfie from you too **

Timmy:  **do you now **

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **i think you deserve a selfie for being so pretty when you come**

Timmy:  **can't stop thinking about you**

Armie:  **I heard you promise to be good, baby. **

Timmy:  **sorry armie. i am trying**

Armie:  **I know baby. I know you can do it.**

Armie:  **Saoirse's back **

Timmy: ❤️ 

Armie buzzes Saoirse up and takes a last, panicked look around, trying to figure out if there's anything too untidy-looking in the apartment. It's only really dog toys and blankets strewn across the floor and sofa. He props the apartment door open and goes to start making tea. 

He hears her talking to the puppies as they all come out of the elevator, chatting to Archie about how many good sniffs he'd had on the walk. 

Armie can't help but grin; it's the same kind of ridiculous thing he ends up saying to Archie all the time too. 

"You said tea, right?" he asks, crouching down to welcome Livvy and Archie with open arms as Saoirse lets them off the leash and shuts the door behind herself. "Milk? Sugar?" 

"Just a bit of milk, please." Saoirse hangs the leashes over a coat hook and unzips her ankle boots. "You're not going to microwave it though are you, 'cause I can't be doing with—" 

Armie snorts a laugh and points to the kettle. "Don't worry. My ex was adamant on the subject." He blushes, and looks away.  _ Fuck. Way to go.  _ "It's—thanks for taking them out—" he stumbles, trying to distract her from his mistake. 

"Well, you keep stealing my Livvy time." Saoirse strokes Livvy's ears as she says it, expression deadpan. 

Armie's not sure if it's a joke or not. His stomach squirms. "Archie's selfish," he hazards, grabbing the kettle as it starts to boil. He sets Saoirse's tea brewing, and begins making a coffee for himself. 

Saoirse huffs something that could be a laugh. "He's a love. And I have to say his training's not going so bad. He's quick at 'sit' and 'down'. You're doing puppy class with him, that's right?" 

Armie pours some milk into her tea, and stirs. Hands it to her. "How I met Timmy. And Livs." The words feel inflammatory, somehow, as if he's addressed the thing that they're deliberately not talking about. 

She takes the tea, and blows across its surface. Nods. Her blue eyes are sharp, but she doesn't look hostile. "You saw his play," she says, after her first sip of tea. "What'd you think?" 

Armie swallows. "He's—incredible." 

"Isn't he." Her response is measured, but the corners of her eyes crinkle unstoppably. 

"He said you're an actor too," says Armie, tentatively.  _ Anything I might have seen you in?  _ He doesn't ask the cliché of a question. Takes a sip of coffee.

Saoirse nods, once. "I'll be back in New York before too long," she says, with a shrug. "Filming again. Then Ireland." 

"New York for you too." Armie puts the mug down on the counter; turns it, staring blankly at its rim. When he looks up, Saoirse's eyes are on his, watching him carefully. 

"With the sound of your job—what Timo's told me about it, anyway—I assumed you must visit NYC every now and again." 

Armie looks down at his feet; shakes his head, once. Tries not to grimace. "Not—really." 

"He said you want to act." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Well. It's a dream. Isn't it  _ everyone's _ dream, in LA?" he asks, with a wry little smile. 

"Ha." She acknowledges this with a laugh. "Well I keep telling Timo, if he managed to find a theater job in  _ LA,  _ he'll be sorted in New York, with Broadway." 

Armie nods. "Both times I saw his play, all I could hear was people talking about him. About how…"  _ how extraordinary he is. _ He gestures to the self-evident end of the sentence. 

There's a short silence while they both sip their hot drinks. 

"It can be a lot, with a new puppy," says Saoirse, after a minute. 

"Mm," agrees Armie, raising his eyebrows. "Sure can." He swallows. "Timmy's lucky he has you to help him out." 

"Is Arch your first dog?" asks Saoirse, bending down to thump Archie's side as he sniffs her knee. 

Armie shakes his head, with a little half-smile. "My family—my grandfather—had a dog when I was a kid. But I had no idea of the work that goes into the training." He realizes he's just made himself sound like an idiot who bought a dog with no planning. "I mean—I googled it before getting Arch, but...I guess it's different. In practice." 

Saoirse half-smiles. "Sometimes  _ very  _ different," she says wryly, and Armie can't help but laugh. "My family's first dog died when I was about thirteen," she adds. "So if course I begged and  _ begged  _ for a puppy, and me mam made me  _ swear  _ I'd help with everything before we were allowed one. It was—yeah. A steep learning curve, you might say." 

Armie swallows a sip of coffee, and grins. "I bet." His throat tightens when he thinks about the other question he wants to ask. "Do you—" he hesitates, and Saoirse looks up. 

"Mm?" 

"Do you know if—Tim'll have some kind of going-away thing?" he asks, quickly. "I know the play ends before he leaves, so I assumed they'd have an end-of-show party or something, but…" he cradles his half-full cup of coffee against his chest, "...I didn't know if he has other friends here he'll want to say goodbye to, or—or if  _ you're _ planning something…" he trails off. 

Saoirse's eyebrows flick up. She purses her lips. "I know he loves the crew at the theater." There's a hesitation, then she seems to make up her mind to speak, mouth setting into a determined line. "When Léo was doing his course, they went out a decent amount. Being at uni, I guess it means you hang out with people from your classes, and—I mean, I met Timo at a party, but…" she taps her thumbnail against her mug, an uneasy little sound. "After Léo—left—Timo didn't really want to see them anymore, the people he'd… After all, they—he didn't know which of them had—known. Took me a while to convince him  _ I _ hadn't. He's kind of—kept himself to himself, more. Since." 

Armie realizes the truth of it, feeling himself flush with anger. He remembers Timmy, lying on the counter, whispering  _ I'm still so humiliated.  _ Swallowing, he stares down at the kitchen tiles. There's a lump of fury and sadness in his throat; his fists ache with the urge to punch a man he's never met. He isn't sure what to say. 

"I met a couple of his New York mates," says Saoirse quickly. "I mean, he's got—lots. But a couple of them visited, once, after…I think they were trying to get him to go home. But he wanted to finish out the run at the theater. So." 

_ Have I just taken advantage of him at a bad time in his life?  _ wonders Armie.  _ If he was home in NYC, surrounded by family and friends, would he have looked at me twice? A guy nearly a decade older than him, with a boring job and a homophobic family? A guy with a therapist and barely anyone who knows the real him?  _

Slowly, Armie nods. "Guess maybe he won't be interested in a leaving thing, then." 

Saoirse finishes her tea and puts the mug on the counter with a decisive little  _ clink.  _ "You know, I'm sure he'd be touched. And I'd come, definitely." 

Armie looks up. "There's that bar he goes to with the theater crowd. I figured I could maybe just—book a booth. They have live music Friday nights, and…" he shrugs. "But I don't know the cast and crew, and I guess—it might be cool to keep it a surprise. For him." 

Saoirse gives him a quick little grin. "I've a friend in common with the ASD. I can get some numbers, maybe. We could start a group chat." 

Armie can't help grinning back. "I—hoped you might know them." 

Archie puts his paws on Armie's knees, begging for attention. 

"Off," murmurs Armie, bending down to pet the puppy when he obeys. "Good boy." 

Saoirse squats to fuss Livvy, playing with her long silky ears and patting her sides. "These two'll be wanting a nap, after their walk." 

"Ha. Hope so." 

"You up to much, the rest of the weekend?" asks Saoirse, straightening up. She's checking her cardigan pocket for her car keys, clearly preparing to leave. 

Armie feels himself blush, slightly. "Tim's day off, tomorrow. Puppy class, of course—"

"Oh yes." 

"—and meeting some friends of mine at the beach, in the morning. An—an old friend of mine. And his wife. And their kids. Uh." Armie's still holding his empty mug, even though the coffee's finished. "Taking these two with us, so it'll probably be chaos." 

He glances up to find Saoirse looking at him obliquely as she leans down to pet Archie's rough little head. 

"Sounds nice," is all she says, but warmth has replaced any trace of wariness in her eyes. "Right. I should get going, but I'll text you about some people for a bit of a do before he leaves. Find some numbers." 

"Thanks," Armie mumbles, ushering her to the door. "When are  _ you  _ leaving for NYC?" 

"Oh, a couple of weeks after Timmy," she says, zipping up her ankle boots. "But I'll be back and forth between here, New York and Ireland for the next year or so. Work." She shrugs, and checks briefly in her purse. "You know what it's like." 

Armie nods, trying not to show his private dismay too clearly. "So—him being home will be good for his work?" he asks, picking up on the comment she'd made in passing earlier. 

Saoirse, crouching down to make a fuss of both puppies, gives him a quick, searching glance. "Should be. I'm—glad he'll be back with his family. I wish he'd been able to see them more, after…" she shrugs. "And he'll be on the spot for theater auditions." She grabs Archie's ears and flaps them about. "You know, New York’s a great place for acting classes. If you're thinking about it." 

Armie looks down at the puppies, feeling himself blush. 

_ Acting classes in New York.  _

He's not sure what to say. 

"Right, I'll get out of your hair," Saoirse says, standing up reluctantly. "Oh I  _ know,  _ Livs, but I'll see you soon, darlin'. I will. And you, Archie. Oh you're both adorable. You are." 

Armie grabs the puppies' collars. "They'll come with you, if they can." 

"Hmm," Saoirse smiles, giving both puppies one last pat. "I'm going. I'm  _ really  _ going. See you soon, Armie." She closes the door behind herself. 

Armie takes a long, relieved breath. 

*

The puppies conk out completely not long after Saoirse leaves, curling up together in a corner of the sofa. Armie takes a picture and sends it to Timmy. He knows he won't get a response for a while, but there's one message waiting for him already. 

Timmy:  **hope sersh isn't scaring you mon beau **

Armie smiles, and adds a response after the picture. 

Armie:  **👍👍 Good to chat to her** 🙂 

This time he really does start a workout, making use of the quiet while the puppies are out for the count. He's partway through his handweights section, already sweaty from abs exercises, when his phone pings with a new text. 

Timmy:  **do you love her now? tell me you love her now **

Armie:  **She seems like a really good person. And she clearly thinks you're amazing. So we agree. **

Timmy: 😍🥰😘 

Timmy:  **what you up to? **

Armie:  **I actually am working out this time. Just at home, while the puppies nap**

Timmy:  **hnnnngghhh? pictures please **

Armie:  **But...sweaty **

Timmy:  **THAT'S THE POINT **

Armie:  **Oh god you'd be inhaling me right now wouldn't you**

Timmy:  **you know it. probably licking you **

Armie: 🤔  **where **

Timmy:  **you know where. but also your collarbones. + behind your ears **

Armie:  **You're weird **

Timmy:  **you love it **

_ I do. God help me, I do.  _

Armie:  **[image] **

Armie:  **Happy now? I'm just redder and shinier than usual **

Timmy:  **mmmmmmm **

Armie:  **Oh that does it for you huh **

Timmy:  **everything about you does it for me **

Armie:  **You going to eat some dinner baby? You have time to go get it now **

Timmy:  **idk… **

Armie:  **Just a sandwich or something. To keep you going **

Timmy:  **you take good care of me **

Armie:  **I want to x **

Timmy:  **fine i'll go buy something **

Armie:  **Good boy **

Timmy:  **armieeee… **

Armie: ☺️😘 

Working out a while longer, Armie listens to more of  _ Midnight's Children.  _ His mind keeps flicking to Saoirse's casual comment about acting classes in New York. 

_ I mean, there must be lots of classes in LA, too.  _

_ It'd be creepy as fuck to move across the country because someone you've known a few weeks lives there, wouldn't it?  _

_ Once he's home and with his friends and family again, all of this will fade away fast. He's not going to want to be in a long-distance thing with some old, closeted guy. His friends will talk sense into him.  _

Checking in on the puppies before taking a quick shower, Armie tries to ignore the knot of anxiety in his stomach. 

_ I don't know the exact date of his flight home.  _

He doesn't even want to ask. 

*

The curiosity gets him, though. He spends far too long googling acting classes in New York. The array of options is dizzying, and he quickly realizes he's not going to get anywhere unless he does some more research. 

He loses time investigating types of acting, the different schools and methods that people adhere to. 

At some point the puppies wake up and run riot until he feeds them; once they're done, he plays a half-hearted game of fetch with them, still staring at his laptop screen. 

After a long time, he realizes he's starving, and should cook dinner. He carries his laptop over to the counter, and carries on clicking through options as he makes lasagna. 

By the time he's finished eating, he has a tentative shortlist of beginner's acting courses that could give him a decent basic understanding. Each studio also runs intermediate and advanced courses which are more expensive, but there wouldn't be any need to commit to those unless—

_ Well. Most likely I won't be any good at it. There's absolutely no reason to believe I would be. Just my own stubborn wish to try it.  _

_ Fuck. I just wasted hours on something I'm never going to do anyway.  _

He bookmarks the courses and some of the information on acting he'd found, anyway, before he closes his laptop. 

Clearing up the mess from dinner, Armie kicks a ball to keep the puppies occupied, laughing because both of them have got the principle of fetch—except for the part where they have to let go of the ball. 

"If you drop it, Livs, I'll kick it," he grins. "Go on. Drop." 

He takes the puppies downstairs, and for another short wander around the neighborhood. Archie gets spooked by another dog barking in the distance, so Armie makes him sit still and eat treats while he listens to the sound. 

Tyler:  **what time do you want to meet? Thought we could go to the usual if you don't mind, then we can take the kids to the park if they get bored** 🙄😂

Armie:  **Sounds good 👍 Hour's drive and T will be tired after work so not before 10 probably? **

Tyler:  **what does he do? **

Armie:  **Actor. Two shows on Saturday so he doesn't get back until late **

Tyler:  **Can we say 10? We'll get there for then because the kids will have been up for hours but if you guys are later don't worry**

Armie: 👍  **See you tomorrow**

Tyler:  **xx** 😘

Armie waits for Livvy and Archie to do what they need to do outside the building, then cleans up after them. Takes them back upstairs in the elevator, talking nonsense to them. 

In the apartment he runs through 'sit' and 'down' with them; tries to get both the puppies to 'stay' for treats, too, but they keep distracting one another.  _ This might be one to practice just with Arch on his own,  _ he thinks, sighing as Archie distracts Livvy by instigating yet another play-fight. 

Taking his copy of  _ Midnight's Children  _ to the sofa, he settles down, finding his place with some difficulty after listening to the audiobook. At first he has to keep breaking off to stop Livvy attempting to chew the corner of the rug, but before long both puppies decide it would be more fun to jump up on the sofa and trample across him. It doesn't take long before they're both curled sleepily around and on him. 

He reads until ten, catching himself getting sleepy a couple times, warm and calm under the snoozing puppies. Finally he levers himself up and takes the puppies downstairs again, then lures them into their crates. 

He covers the remaining lasagna and puts it away in the fridge; drinks a glass of water and heads for the bedroom. Uses the bathroom, then brushes his teeth and washes his face. He checks his phone but there's nothing from Timmy. There  _ is _ another email from his mom, which he swipes away without looking at it. 

He takes off his jeans, shirt, and socks. Stays in his boxers, and pulls on a soft t-shirt. 

Taking out one of his work ties, he lays it on Timmy's pillow, a loose roll of grey silky fabric.

As long as he doesn't think about tomorrow— _ about my friends meeting the man I'm dating _ —his mind feels calm, and quiet. 

He reads, and maybe at some point he drifts, because he seems to wake when he hears the sound of Timmy's key in the lock.  _ No, not ‘Timmy's key’, the spare key I lent him earlier so he can get back in, it's not like he has his own key, although he could but it might freak him out to suggest something like that—  _

He listens muzzily to the sounds of Timmy letting the puppies out of their crates and encouraging them into harnesses, opening the apartment door, and taking them out. Drifts again until he hears Timmy talking them back into their beds—

When Timmy opens the bedroom door, Armie blinks determinedly to try and wake up properly. Smiles at him. 

"You're cute." Timmy's smiling too. 

"Hmm. Hi." 

Timmy sits down on the edge of the bed. He looks tired, but full of that restless, buzzing energy that he always seems to carry after being on stage. His movements are quick, fidgety. 

Armie sees the moment he notices the tie. 

Timmy's nose crinkles, an intrigued little line appearing between his brows. He reaches out and touches it. "Is this for me?" 

Armie half-shrugs, head still on the pillow. His heart kicks in his chest. "If you want." 

Timmy's gaze darts to his. There's realization in his eyes, a quick flash of darkening arousal as his pupils expand. He licks his bottom lip. "But you're tired—" 

"Not too tired." Armie smiles. "That's—just an option. It's not—a small thing, using a restraint. We don't have to do  _ that, _ but I'll take care of you. I want to. I said I would." 

Timmy's breath catches, quick and shallow. He pulls his shoulders back, then hunches them again. Threads the tie through the fingers of his left hand. "I want," he manages, breathlessly. 

Armie reaches out and runs his hand, palm flat, down Timmy's back. "You've played with restraints before?" 

Quickly, Timmy shakes his head. There's a feverish pink blush spreading high on his cheeks. 

"I'll tie your hands, just loosely. We'll see if you like it. We can stop anytime." 

Timmy nods. Takes another breath; still fast, but deeper. 

"You remember your word?" 

"Yes." 

"Tell me." 

"Hazel." 

"Good." 

Timmy shivers as Armie slips his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and strokes his back. 

"Do you want me to—take my—" 

"Yes. Everything." 

Slowly, Timmy stands up; back to Armie, he fumbles with both fly and zipper. Changes his mind and pulls the t-shirt he'd borrowed off first, arms awkward, all elbows as he casts it to the floor. Pushes his jeans and boxers down in one go, and turns back to the bed. He's already hard. 

Armie sits up, and looks at him. Slowly, enjoying every inch of skin, every freckle. He pats the bed. "Come." 

Timmy sits, legs folded. Armie moves to sit in front of him so they're knee-to-knee. He picks up the tie and runs it softly across his left palm. 

"Sure you want to try?" 

Timmy nods. His bottom lip is pink, bitten. "Please." There's the tiniest hint of a lisp in the word. 

Gently, Armie loops the tie around Timmy's wrists, keeping the knot loose and easily releasable. He brings Timmy's hands to his lips; kisses the elegant knuckles of his thumbs. "Feel okay?" 

Timmy nods again, quickly. "Will you—are you going to—" his eyes slide to the headboard. 

Armie smiles, squeezing Timmy's hands. "I thought maybe—next time. If you like it." 

Timmy bends his head and presses his forehead to Armie's. His breathing hitches and he seeks a kiss, pliant and tentative. 

"Baby," murmurs Armie, as he returns the kiss. "Lie down." 

Settling against the pillows, Timmy wriggles his hips; Armie grins and bends to kiss his hipbone. 

He grabs Timmy's wrists and brings his hands to the head of the bed; has him hold on. For a moment, he twists his finger in the tie, tightening it. Timmy's breath catches. 

"Comfortable?" 

Timmy nods, quickly. 

_ He's so hard. Has he been needing this all day?  _

"Were you good for me, like you promised?" 

"Yes." Timmy speaks as if the words have been waiting to spill out. "I was so worried—before the shows—because of this morning—I thought I'd get hard on stage, thought maybe I'd have to—before I went on—" 

Slowly, lazily, Armie draws the very tip of his index finger up the length of Timmy's cock. "But you didn't." 

A quick shake of the head; wide, green, pupil-blown eyes. "No. I didn't. I swear." 

"Good boy." Armie settles himself between Timmy's thighs, brushing his lips across the pale, tender skin spread out before him. Splays his hands at Timmy's hipbones, marvelling at the size of them compared to Timmy's waist. 

He kisses Timmy's stomach; lets his chin brush the head of his cock, a tease that earns a quick, soft gasp from Timmy. Licks and bites a freckle next to Timmy's bellybutton, then grins when stomach muscles tense beneath his lips. 

When he takes Timmy in his mouth, the movement is met with a soft, breathy gasp; and as he builds a rhythm, Timmy clearly struggles not to buck or roll his hips. 

Every time Timmy moves at all, Armie tightens his grip on his hipbones, pressing him harder into the mattress. He watches through his eyelashes: Timmy's lips part in a silent moan as Armie digs his fingernails lightly into tender skin and bone. 

Once Timmy's trembling, Armie pulls off; returns to kissing his thighs. Gently massages the places he'd gripped, and sweeps his palms softly across Timmy's stomach. 

"Armie?" mumbles Timmy, raising his head from the pillow. 

"Mmm?" asks Armie innocently, burying his face in Timmy's groin, inhaling him. Lipping softly at his balls. 

_ "Fuck." _ Timmy's head falls back onto the pillow. Guaranteed he can feel the way Armie grins. 

Armie takes Timmy back in; sucks him again, long slow slides. Hooks his thumbs over Timmy's hipbones and lets his long fingers slide beneath him, across his ass. Digs his fingernails into tight, pale flesh. 

Pleasure's cumulative; this time, it doesn't take long at all for Timmy to be shivering with need—

Armie pulls back again, and follows an intriguing trail of freckles down Timmy's left leg. 

Timmy takes a long, shuddery breath, and Armie has to suppress a smile. 

_ He's being so good. Trying to just let me have control.  _

Armie raises his head to watch Timmy: the way his eyelashes flutter, the way he bites at his bottom lip. 

_ He needs more.  _

Timmy almost groans when Armie slides his lips back around him; but he manages to stifle the sound, hold it in his throat. 

Armie caresses Timmy's hip, and wraps his hand around the base of his cock as he starts to bob his head. 

_ Fuck,  _ Timmy's lips form, silently. He arches his back, obediently not rolling his hips. 

Armie slides his left hand under Timmy's ass, cupping and squeezing one cheek; brushing his thumb in comforting little circles against Timmy's hip the while. 

Timmy's knuckles are white where he grips the headboard. 

Pulling off, Armie kisses Timmy's belly and listens to him choke back a moan. 

"That's so good, Timmy. I'm so proud of you. My good boy." 

Timmy shivers, and his cock strains. For a second, Armie wonders if he's going to come at the words. 

"You must want me to let you come." 

Timmy's eyelids are heavy. He looks simultaneously blissed out and desperate, flushed with want. He nods, quickly. 

"Do you want to ask me?" murmurs Armie, stroking his fingertips with feather-light touch around Timmy's left nipple. "I love the way you ask for things." 

Timmy takes a frantic little breath. "Please, Armie. Please—I need to—" 

"Mmm." Armie kisses Timmy's hipbone; trails his lips slowly down over his hip, to his thigh. "That was beautiful." 

Timmy's hands flex on the head of the bed; his back arches. 

Armie takes him back in. 

Timmy shudders; suppresses a groan. 

"Feel good?" 

Timmy's answer is a sigh; Armie grins and grabs his hips. Rolls them, bowing his head to take Timmy further in, to suck him in undulating waves—

When he pulls back again, Timmy stifles a soft little moan of protest. His cock lies red and glistening against his stomach. 

Armie crawls up to hold himself on all fours over Timmy; dips down to kiss him. "You're doing so well, baby.  _ So  _ well." He runs his thumbs over Timmy's hands, his wrists, everywhere the tie touches. 

Timmy's eyes are heavy-lidded, smoky hazel-green. His lips are red and slightly parted. His chest rises and falls fast, as if he's been running. 

Armie can't resist kissing him again; reaches down, collects a bead of Timmy's precome and presses his thumb to those lips,  _ between _ them—

Timmy is soft, yielding. His tongue flicks, tastes; his eyes close, as if in desperation or despair. 

_ Oh, Timmy. I've got you.  _

Armie moves back down Timmy's body and wraps his hand around the base of his cock; opens for him, swirls his tongue, closes his lips and starts to work him determinedly, smoothly—

When he glances up, Timmy's eyes are open again, gaze fixed dazedly on Armie's lips. 

Before long, Timmy's thighs are shaking again. He's quiet, biting his lips, and Armie wonders if he's holding his breath. There's a line of effort or concentration between his brows. 

Armie smoothes his thumb across Timmy's hipbone, brushes a circle on his side. 

Timmy gasps and shifts and controls it and he's harder, bigger in Armie's mouth— 

"Armie—Armie I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" the words break from him, reluctant, needy.

Armie smiles and sucks harder, smooth movements of hand and mouth and tongue together, and he hopes his smile is evident in his eyes because Timmy's still watching him, almost anxiously, like he needs permission—

"Come for me." Armie squeezes Timmy's hip, and flicks his tongue mercilessly against the spot just below the head of his cock that makes him  _ shudder,  _ makes his hips stutter and his back arch and a bitten-off moan rise to his lips— 

_ Oh fuck. Fuck, that's a beautiful sight. _

Armie swallows as Timmy comes and keeps coming, and the movement has Timmy whispering his name, lips forming it like a charm.

On the way back up to Timmy's lips, Armie kisses his hip, his belly, his nipple, his collarbone, his chin; Timmy squirms and huffs at every touch. 

His fingers grip the headboard lazily now, but he still doesn't move, waiting to be released. 

"Perfect," murmurs Armie, as he unknots the tie, as he kisses Timmy's wrists. He throws the tie towards the laundry basket; rolls onto his side and pulls Timmy close. 

Timmy huffs and nuzzles against Armie's neck, hooks his leg over Armie's hip. Touches Armie's cock, a hard line in his boxers. 

Armie puts his hand on Timmy's jaw and tips his face up. "Tomorrow, baby." 

Timmy's eyelids are blissfully heavy. "Sure?" 

Armie can't help smiling. "Sure." He pinches Timmy's chin. "You need to go brush your teeth." 

Immediately, Timmy pouts, eyes closing.

Armie laughs and pats Timmy's ass. "C'mon you." 

"Carry me." 

_ "Ha.  _ I'm not carrying you. I'm ancient. I might put my back out." 

"Ohmigod shuttup," mumbles Timmy. 

Armie just huffs a laugh and starts nudging him toward the edge of the bed. 

"Asshole," mumbles Timmy, as Armie leads him to the bathroom. "I hate you, you know." He leans against Armie's chest as he brushes his teeth. 

"Oh, sure. I know." 

"I hate you so, so much." 

"Mm-hmm." Armie steers Timmy back to bed, hands on his waist. 

Spooning together, Armie reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp. 

Timmy gathers up Armie's hand, and presses it to the center of his chest. Kisses his thumb. 

"Armie?" he mumbles. 

"Baby?" 

"Have you ever thought about fucking me?" Timmy sounds out of it, barely still awake. 

Armie opens his eyes in the darkness, staring at the dark mass of Timmy's curls. He feels his cock jump and his heart jolt. 

"Have  _ you?"  _

Timmy's response is a sleepy little giggle. "'Course I have.  _ Armie.  _ You're ridiculous." He sighs happily, and his breathing lengthens into sleep. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kind comments are so wonderful. Thank you for reading 💜

"Armie?" Timmy nuzzles Armie's neck, pressing his lips behind his ear. 

_ Warm. Little spoon. Teaspoon. Me right now.  _ Armie half-smiles. 

"Mmm?" 

"What time do we have to—it's still super early but I was just—I took the puppies out and then I didn't know if—"

"W'time? Is it?" Armie tries to open his eyes. 

"Six fifty." 

"Ugh. What? Ugh." 

Timmy giggles. "Well  _ I _ feel very well-rested." His hand sneaks around Armie's waist; slips up under the t-shirt, stroking his stomach. 

"Hmm." Armie rolls onto his back and prises his eyes open. 

_ Today. The beach. Timmy and Tyler and Jacquie and the kids.  _

Armie rubs his hand across his mouth, and then his eyes. Stares up at the white ceiling above them. His mouth tastes sour, and he's not sure if the feeling in his stomach is hunger or nausea. 

Tim's hand is still, now, on Armie's stomach. 

"I...wasn't sure what time we'd need to go. Or." His voice catches to a halt. 

_ Or do you not want me to come anymore,  _ hears Armie, as clearly as if it had been said. 

Timmy sounds  _ tentative.  _

Armie closes his eyes, swallows, and sets his jaw. Turns to Timmy and presses his face blindly into the warm soft skin of his neck. Pulls him close with a hand in the small of his back; breathes him in. 

_ This is what matters. This is what matters.  _

_ He matters.  _

"We said about ten," he mumbles into the dip at the base of Timmy's neck. "And the drive takes an hour if there's no traffic. So we should go around nine." 

He feels Timmy relax in his arms, but he still doesn't open his eyes. 

Timmy's hand slides up Armie's side and comes to rest on his chest. "Are you asleep?" 

Armie huffs. "No. Kind of. Maybe." 

Timmy's thumb traces a circle. "I could wake you up like you put me to sleep." There's a smile in his voice. 

_ Fuck.  _ Armie takes a hurried breath. Licks his lips. Swallows. 

_ I don't know if I can do that right now.  _

He feels Timmy pull back to look at him, then slide a hand along his jaw. 

"Hey." 

It's just one syllable, but it holds a world of understanding. Armie feels himself frown, trying to suppress the sudden hot tears he can feel prickling behind his eyes. He presses his lips together and half-shakes his head.  _ Don't. I don't deserve it.  _

"Hey." Timmy smoothes the pad of his thumb across Armie's cheek. "Let me see you?" 

Armie tries to control his breathing. His chest feels constricted with the effort.

When he opens his eyes, he can’t prevent a tear from spilling onto his nose. 

Timmy's eyes are soft hazel in the morning light that filters around the edges of the blinds. "It's okay." 

"It's not though, is it?" mutters Armie, frustrated.  _ I'm broken. I can't do this.  _

"It is." Then, "can I kiss you?" 

Armie gives a despairing little huff.  _ And now you've made him feel like you don't want him. Great work, Hammer.  _ "Please." 

_ If you really want to.  _

Timmy leans in and presses the lightest of kisses to Armie's lips. "Here," he whispers. He turns over, nudging back against Armie, making himself the little spoon. He pulls Armie's arm around him. 

"I'm sorry," whispers Armie, against Timmy's nape. 

"Don't." Timmy presses a kiss into Armie's palm. "Cuddle me?" 

Armie squeezes him.  _ "Cuddling."  _

Timmy bites Armie's thumb. "I could fall asleep again." 

"You should. You haven't had enough." 

"Just wanted to take the puppies out. You had them so long yesterday all on your own." 

"Well, Saoirse coming by to walk them was great." 

Timmy wriggles slightly. "You  _ did  _ love her, didn't you?" 

Armie can't help but smile. "I think she loves  _ you.  _ Which makes me predisposed to like her. And you know what? I don't  _ actually _ think she wants to have me killed and my body buried in an unmarked grave in the dead of night anymore." 

Timmy snorts. "You're such an asshole." 

"If looks could kill I'd have been dead that first time I met her." 

"Anyway. Your body's going nowhere in the dead of night except here." 

“That was kind of hot, kind of threatening.”

“Fuck yeah. The sweet spot.” 

Armie huffs a laugh and kisses Timmy’s nape again.  _ How do you make me feel better even when I’m anxious as all hell?  _

“What are you wearing to the beach?” asks Timmy. “I believe there was some mention of swim shorts.”

“Ha.” Armie strokes Timmy’s chest. “Figured I’d just go with jeans and a t-shirt. You should take one of my sweaters with you, as well as your hoodie.” 

Timmy turns his head, smiling. “You know me.”

Armie leans over to kiss him lightly. “Cold-blooded.”

“Want me to let the pups in? Arch must be wondering why he’s been banished from your bed lately.”

Right now, being trampled over by overenthusiastic puppies sounds  _ perfect.  _ Armie nods and kisses Timmy’s shoulder, grateful for the suggestion. 

With a groan, Timmy drags himself out of bed. A minute later there’s the skittering race of claws across the hardwood floor and first Archie then Livvy hurl themselves onto the bed—

Armie laughs, fending them off with both hands from licking his face, watching as they wriggle and wag furiously. After a few seconds he realizes Timmy’s watching from the doorway, a fond grin lighting up his face. 

“Get in here,” laughs Armie. “Help me.” He lets out an  _ oof  _ sound as Livvy digs a heavy paw into his stomach. “Shit, Livs. You’re a heavy beast.”

“She’s a lump.” Timmy wrestles enough room to get back under the duvet, and plasters himself to Armie’s side. “Maybe I’m feeding her too much.”

“She doesn’t look chunky,” says Armie, lifting his head to look and getting Archie’s curious nose in his ear. “Ugh, Arch—” he pushes the puppy playfully onto his side and begins rubbing his belly. “Why does he always put either his nose or his tongue in my ear? You can see her ribs a tiny bit. I don’t think she’s overweight, just…”

“Dense?” giggles Timmy, and Armie can’t help laughing too. Turning to kiss him. “Yeah. That. God, poor Livs. We’re so mean to her.”

“Oh I  _ know.  _ I don’t feed her.”

“For sure. I don’t feed Archie either. Do you  _ see  _ how hungry he always is?”

Timmy kisses Armie’s temple. Takes a breath. “I’m sorry if today is hard. I mean—I know it will be. And I’m...right here for you. Whatever you need.”

Armie half-shakes his head. “I’m a dumbass. Tyler couldn’t have been more accepting. I know it’ll be—I mean, there’s a  _ reason  _ it was them I wanted to tell first. But…” he lets out a shaky sigh.

“That doesn’t necessarily make it easier,” says Timmy, quietly. He brushes his nose against Armie’s cheek. “Doesn’t change any shitty messages you absorbed as a kid.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” Armie means to say it lightly, almost as a joke; but it comes out more vulnerable than he’d thought. He presses his lips together. 

“You don’t get to decide that.” Timmy throws his leg across Armie’s belly, forcing Archie to rearrange himself on the bed. 

Armie huffs. “No?” 

“Nope.” Timmy pops the ‘p’. “I don’t trust you to let me—” he pauses and takes a breath, “—be as good to you as you actually  _ do  _ deserve.” 

“Hmm.” Armie presses his forehead to Timmy’s. “Then I’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Good.” Timmy laughs when Armie pokes him in the ribs. He yawns and stretches slightly. “I might go shower.”

“Can’t be time yet.” Armie squeezes him closer, hand sliding to the base of Timmy’s back. 

“I need to wash my hair. And then sort it out.”

“You’re going to get your hair perfect just so it can get blown around everywhere at the beach?”

“I might as well  _ arrive  _ looking good. I have to impress your friends.” 

Armie laughs and sighs. “You’ll do that by being you.” 

“Well. A good version of me.”

Armie rolls onto his side and bites at Timmy’s sharp jaw. “You  _ are  _ the good version of you. Stop.”

“You would say that. You’re biased.” Timmy flushes and bites his lip. Adds, “Probably. A bit.”

Armie gives him a look. “Timmy. I thought you were amazing before—anything. Before I even knew if there was something—between us. You’re such a—just— _ good _ person.” 

Timmy blushes harder and burrows his head into Armie’s neck. “Argh,” he mumbles. His lips brush Armie’s collarbone.

Armie takes a breath. His heart feels heavy in his chest. “Saoirse said you have loads of friends in NYC you haven’t seen in a while.” He swallows, and forces out the words. “You must be looking forward to seeing them.”

For a second, Timmy doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he nods. “Well, there are group chats all the time. You know. It’s not like I’m totally…” he trails off. “So.”

Armie nods, slightly. “It’d be—good to hear about them. Find out more about your—about you, when you're home. You know. NYC Timmy.”

_ Do you understand, Tim? Please tell me about you. I want to know all of you, the you not hurt by a dick ex-boyfriend. The you you’ll be when you’re home with your friends and family.  _

_ Will you still be interested in me?  _

Timmy takes a quick, shallow breath. "I'm still me," he mumbles, and it sounds like he's smiling. "Maybe with more rapping." 

Armie snorts. "Rapping?" 

"Oh Jesus, Armie. If you ever meet my friends, the first thing they'll do is show you a video. You have to  _ promise  _ me, if they try, you'll close your eyes and put your hands over your ears—" 

"I'm not promising that," Armie grins. "No  _ way. _ This video sounds like something I need to see." 

Timmy groans and presses his face into Armie's chest.  _ "Shit." _ Slowly he crawls onto him, relaxed and heavy, nuzzling into the crook of Armie's neck. After a minute, he mumbles, "well. It'd be cool to show you around my favourite places in the city. If you—visit." 

Armie rubs the base of Timmy's back. "Yeah?" His heart is beating fast, and he hopes Timmy can't hear it.

Timmy nods, still buried in Armie's neck. 

Armie swallows, and wraps his arms more firmly around Timmy's waist. Squeezes him close. 

_ Yes please. Fuck. Don't let it be the end for us when you go.  _

*

They're quiet in the car. Armie passes Timmy the music cable, and Timmy connects his phone. He scrolls through, choosing; and after a moment, a rap song plays quietly. It takes Armie a minute to figure out it's not English. 

"French?" he asks. 

Timmy nods. "But the chorus is in English." He rests his hand on Armie's thigh and glances back to the puppies. "Those two are being good." 

"We brought the long leashes, right?" 

"In my rucksack." 

"Mm." Armie smiles his thanks, glancing over. Timmy's staring out of the window, mouthing silently along with every word of the song. 

*

As they park up, Armie takes a deep, silent breath. His stomach is squirming. 

"Will they already be here?" asks Timmy. His knee is jumping, and he's fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them down over his hands, twisting, gathering them into his palms. 

Armie checks his phone. "No texts, but we're a couple minutes early." He reaches over and grabs Timmy's wrist. Untwists the hoodie sleeve, and digs out Timmy's hand. Kisses the palm.  _ Don't be nervous, baby.  _ The words stick in his throat. 

"We should take the puppies to pee." Timmy takes his hand back gently, and turns to look at Archie and Livs. "Fuck, I hope Livs isn't too bad with the kids." 

"Everything's gonna be fine." Armie's telling himself just as much as he's telling Timmy. 

They grab the bags, and walk the dogs over to a strip of scrubby, sandy grass. Luckily Livvy starts circling immediately, which makes Archie want to do the same. 

"She's never been to the beach before," Timmy says in a brittle, falsely-light voice. 

"Really?" Armie forces himself to smile. "If she's anything like this dumbass," he nods to Archie, "she'll eat a bunch of sand the first time." 

"Fuck's sake," says Timmy, and he's smiling too, even though his brows are still drawn together in anxiety. "I mean, we know Livs is  _ absolutely _ a dumbass. Did it give him diarrhoea?" 

"No, actually. Weird consistency, but not diarrhoea. For once." 

They catch one another's eye, and share a small, genuine smile. 

Armie wants to pull Timmy close, take his hand and kiss his forehead, his lips—

"Uncle Armie!" someone yells, and then there's a small boy hurtling towards them, throwing himself at Armie's knees and wrapping his arms around them while the puppies wag themselves furiously closer, trying to lick and sniff the newcomer. 

"Shit, Livs—" Timmy's hauling on her leash to keep her back, and then his eyes go wide with realization at what he's just said. He claps a hand over his mouth. "I mean— _ sugar—" _

Armie laughs at Timmy's horrified expression and passes him Archie's leash too. Reaches down to take hold of River under the arms, and holds him up. 

"Throw me! Throw me!" demands River. 

"When did you have breakfast?" The question is a ritual.

"Hours." 

"You sure? You didn't have it right before you left?" 

"No!" 

"No snacks?" 

"No!" 

Armie laughs again, and throws River up high. Watches his small body outline itself against the blue sky, and catches him again, bending his knees at the moment he takes his weight—

"You're getting too big for this, buddy." 

"Again!" 

Armie laughs and throws him again, vaguely aware that Timmy's managed—with treats—to get the puppies to sit. 

By the time he's thrown River for a third time, Tyler—carrying Vi—and Jacquie are already walking up. 

"Sorry Armie," calls Jacs. "He was talking about it all the way here." 

"He prefers you throwing him than me, you know," grumbles Tyler. 

Armie settles River on his hip and laughs. Lowers him gently to the floor and smiles as he reaches up, begging to be thrown again. "Sorry buddy. I need a break." 

He lets himself be hugged by Tyler, then Jacs; says hi to Violet, who's suddenly bashful, hiding against her dad's neck. Glances obliquely at Timmy, and reaches out to take both leashes. 

Timmy's shoulders are slightly hunched. He's biting his lip, taking only quick glances at everyone. 

"Timmy," says Tyler, and folds him in a warm, one-armed hug that has Timmy looking slightly surprised. "Nice to meet you. This is River, and Vi—" 

"Jacquie," says Jacs, leaning in to hug him too. "Hope you're ready for the chaos." 

Timmy huffs a laugh. "Yeah, I have little cousins. Well, you know. Kind of cousins." He offers his hand solemnly to River, which the little boy loves, shaking it enthusiastically. Vi's having none of it; she buries her head further in Tyler's neck. 

Armie's having to hold Archie and Livs back with brute force on their leashes. "Guys—can we get the puppy meet and greet out of the way? They're practically vibrating." 

Tyler laughs. "Hey, Vi. You want to see the puppies, huh? They're gonna touch you with their noses, and they might try and lick you too—" 

She looks contemplative, but then reaches a hand down towards the puppies. Tyler squats down and shows her them; she catches a lick to the nose and hair from Livvy, and some heavy sniffing in the ear from Archie, but she doesn't seem to mind. She's very focused on digging her little fingers into their fur. 

River's fascinated, clinging to his mom's leg. He seems excited but unsure, retreating again every time he takes a step closer. In the end Jacs dives in to play with the puppies, scratching their ears and rubbing their bellies; and River follows suit, gaining confidence. The puppies are ecstatic, wriggling and bouncing and falling onto their backs for more fuss. 

"Let's go down to the sand," suggests Armie at last. "They need to run off some of this energy. They haven't had a walk yet today." He keeps hold of both the leashes. 

Timmy offers to help Jacquie with the big bag of kid stuff she's carrying over one shoulder, and she gladly relinquishes it to him. 

"We always have so much with us," she sighs. "Towels, blankets, diapers, milk, snacks, drinks, sunblock, sweaters, change of clothes, wipes—you name it, we have it in the giant bag." 

Timmy just ducks his head and smiles. 

There's a set of wide, sandy wooden stairs down onto the beach. Their group picks its way down, Armie hanging onto the puppies' collars to stop them from pulling him down at breakneck pace. 

On the beach, Tyler and Jacquie lead them to a place they can set up a blanket to sit on. 

"Should we put the long leashes on?" Armie asks Timmy as they follow. "Maybe play some fetch, tire them out a bit?" 

Timmy nods as he places Jacquie's bag next to her, and smiles at her thanks. His gaze flicks to Armie's, a soft hazel glimpse of his eyes, almost golden in the sunshine. His curls are a messy halo already, tousled by the sea breeze. 

Armie wants to bury his fingers in them.

Archie's wriggling about so much with excitement, Armie can hardly swap the leashes over. In the end he has to get Archie to sit and force him to wait. 

Timmy looks nervous. "We're not going to have much control over them…" 

Armie looks around. "We're not that near anyone at the moment. We'll just keep checking. Make sure to reel them back in if anyone gets close." 

Slowly, Timmy nods. 

Armie glances back over at Tyler, Jacquie and the kids. The kids are being covered—unwillingly—with sunblock, forced into hats, and having their trousers rolled up. 

_ Fuck, it's strange and not strange all at once. Being here with Timmy, and them. Together.  _

It feels—oddly natural. _ _

"You okay?" asks Armie, as they walk a few paces further from the blanket. He wants to put his arm around Timmy's shoulders, his waist. But it's public, and it's so  _ new  _ being here with his friends. Armie keeps his hands to himself. 

Timmy nods, and casts an oblique glance at Armie. "You?" 

"I'm fine. Good." Armie nods determinedly. "All good." He teases the puppies with the rubber ball they brought with them, then launches it towards the sea. Archie and Livs take off at top speed, racing one another, attention fixed on the ball. 

"Have you noticed how Livs is slower because she's bigger, so she'll try and grab Archie's ears?" says Timmy, putting a hand over his eyes. "Fuck, she's embarrassing. Sorry about my dumb dog. I don't know if she's trying to slow him down, or just being an asshole—" 

Armie snorts a laugh. "Well Arch is usually the one distracting her when we try to train them," he shrugs. "He has the attention span of a fucking goldfish. She's definitely smarter than him." 

_ Right now it would feel so natural to put my hand on his jaw,  _ he thinks. He wants to tip Timmy’s chin up, kiss him gently.  _ I love your big ridiculous puppy. I love watching her and Archie play.  _

The puppies are back; Archie has the ball, and is waiting for Armie to throw it. 

“If you drop it, Arch, I can—”

Timmy laughs. “No take, only throw.” 

_ “Dogs,”  _ Armie sighs. “Archie, drop.” He leans down and squeezes gently on either side of Archie’s mouth.  _ “Drop.”  _

Compelled to drop it, Archie dances away, expectant, staring up at the ball in Armie’s hand.

“Livs isn’t nearly as obsessed with the ball as him. She just wants to follow Archie,” says Timmy, pointing as Livvy bundles into the terrier’s side, pressing her face to his. 

River races past, on his way to go play with the puppies, and there's a cry from behind him. Violet's toddling along, slower in her little leggings and sandals. Close to Armie and Timmy, she stumbles and sits down hard on her bulky diaper. 

"Oh, crap," mutters Timmy, and he makes a motion as if he's going to go pick her up. Hesitates, and bites his lip, then reaches out and takes both leashes. "You go. She knows you." 

Armie checks that River's happy as he jogs over to grab Vi. "Heeeey Vi," he smiles, swooping her like a plane as he pulls her up into his arms. "You got a sandy butt, sweetie," he chuckles, brushing her down and settling her on his hip. 

"Mie," she grins, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt. It's her version of his name. 

"Yes. And here's another 'Mie' for you. Timmy." Armie holds her so she can see Timmy too. She smiles at him, her shyness apparently gone. "Timmy," he says slowly, introducing them. 

"Ti," she mutters, trying it out. 

Armie laughs. "Okay. So he's 'Ti' and I'm 'Mie'. Awesome. Good job Vi." He gives her a gentle little squeeze, then tickles her belly. She giggles and squirms, pulling at his t-shirt as her arms flail. 

Timmy's squinting at where River is playing with the puppies, teasing them with the ball. "They're actually being pretty gentle with him," he mumbles, then looks back to smile at Violet again. "Being the little one sucks." 

_ Oh yeah. His sister's older.  _

Armie looks at him. "Yeah? I wouldn't know." 

"You're always slower, and dumber, and less cool." Timmy half-laughs. "I remember trailing after Pauli so much as a kid. Probably annoying as fuck." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Well, my younger brother was  _ way  _ cooler than me at school. So." 

He doesn't expect Timmy to ask "why?" with such a fascinated expression. 

"I mean—I told you I  _ hated _ school when we came back to LA. But Vik...he was a couple years younger. He just...found it easier to fit back in, to adjust. I—" Armie stares out towards the ocean. "I missed the island, how—how much  _ freer  _ everything was there. I missed it, and I  _ raged _ against being back. He seemed to just want to move on. Fit in. Assimilate. Surprise surprise, he was a  _ lot  _ more popular. Though I'm sure I brought down his cred plenty." 

Timmy smiles. "What, by saying 'cred'?" 

Armie snorts and looks at him. Reaches out to bump his shoulder. Mouthes  _ asshole,  _ while Timmy giggles. 

Armie wants to kiss him. Wants it so badly he can hardly breathe. 

"Mie," says Vi urgently, pointing towards River and the puppies. "Mie!" 

"You want to go see your brother and the doggies?" asks Armie, patting Vi's side. "Or shall we make them come to us?" 

She looks up at him, confused; so Armie puts his hand up to his mouth and calls, "River! Archie! Livvy!" 

The puppies start haring towards them, and River follows. When they arrive, Armie squats down and lets Vi greet the puppies, Timmy pushing them back when they get too boisterous. She giggles and tries to grab handfuls of their fur again. 

"All good River?" asks Armie. 

"I want a puppy." 

Armie laughs, exchanging a look with Timmy. "Oh, boy. Well that's one for your mom and dad." 

Right on cue, Tyler calls, "River! Vi!" and they all make their way slowly back over to the blanket. Juice boxes are distributed to the kids, and Armie holds both puppies back by the collar to prevent them licking at the kids, the juice boxes, the straws, or anything else in sight. 

"Anyone else want anything from the magic bag?" asks Jacs, grinning. "Sunblock? Juice box?" 

Armie returns her grin. "You got orange juice? Timmy'll always take orange juice." 

"Hey—" Timmy blushes and gives him a look. 

Jacquie laughs. "No shame, no shame. Ty's addicted to Vi's rice puff snacks. And I always steal River's pudding cups." 

"Mo-om," says River reproachfully, and everyone laughs. 

Tyler passes Timmy an orange juice. "Armie said you're an actor." 

Timmy nods, ducking his head, letting his curls flop forward to hide his face. "Well. Trying to be." 

"So are you working at the moment?" 

Timmy bites his lip, clearly feeling awkward under the spotlight. 

"He's in a play," says Armie, proudly. "The lead. It's awesome." 

"We should go see it," says Jacs, putting her hand fondly on the nape of Tyler's neck. "We can get a sitter." 

Tyler smiles at her. "You know it, baby." 

Armie has a sudden, visceral flash of  _ missing  _ Timmy, missing him even though he's close—a tug and twist in his chest. 

"Dad, I want to do sand-writing," River says, trampling across the blanket to lean against his dad's shoulder. 

"Yeah? What d'you want to write, kiddo?" 

"Want to draw a truck." 

"We can do that. How many wheels?" 

"Nineteen." 

_ "Nineteen?"  _ a debate starts as Tyler and River walk away. 

Armie groans as he rearranges himself onto the blanket, keeping the puppies on either side of him, index fingers hooked under their collars. 

Timmy hugs his knees, head turned to watch as Tyler and River start mapping out a giant picture. His jaw is sharp, the angles of his face uncompromising. Vi toddles over to Timmy and gently touches his curls, supporting herself on his shoulder. 

Jacs reaches out to take her. "God, sorry. She's obsessed with hair right now—" 

Timmy shakes his head and smiles. "No, no. Honestly, it's not a problem." He puts his hand out for Vi in low-five position, and she smacks her little fist into it, giggling. 

"They've been bonding over being the younger child," says Armie, smiling at Jacquie. 

"Ha. Can't relate. I'm the eldest." 

"Same." 

"Sometimes it breaks my heart watching her toddling along after Riv, wanting to catch up and be included. He doesn't  _ deliberately _ leave her out, but…" she shrugs. "Sure I was the same." 

"My sister used to hide my shoes," says Timmy, with a lopsided grin. "Up high, where I couldn't see them. Oh, and once she sold all my PlayStation controllers at a school junk fair." 

Jacquie snorts. "Oh, Jesus. Sometimes I forget what it was like." 

"I love her  _ now," _ he mumbles, giving Vi a high-five this time. 

Tyler's voice makes it to them, across the sound of the waves. "Timmy! River wants your opinion on wheels." 

"Uh-oh, you're needed." Jacquie distracts Vi with her juice box as Timmy walks away.  _ "Armie,"  _ she adds, lowering her voice, "he seems great." 

Armie feels himself blush. He can't stop the goofy grin that starts to spread across his face. Archie's lying peacefully on his side staring at the sea, so Armie lets go of his collar and rubs his own chin bashfully with the heel of his hand. "He is," he mumbles. "He really is." 

Jacquie reaches over and squeezes his arm. "I'm glad, Armie. I'm really glad." 

"Shit. I'm grinning like an idiot." 

_ "Yeah  _ you are." She laughs at his flushed cheeks. "It's good to see, seriously. And he's  _ cute _ with the kids, so…" 

"Jacs, he's twenty-one. And we've literally known each other for under a month." 

She shrugs. "When you know, you know." 

"Jesus, it's no good trying to be sensible with you two around, being love's young dream after—I don't know—" 

"Eleven years," supplies Jacquie, with a grin. 

"Ugh, shut  _ up," _ groans Armie. 

"Too bad, Arms. You're not allowed to find us unbearable anymore. That's you now, too." 

Armie sighs. "Fuck." He watches as Timmy teaches River to do a cartwheel. 

"Riv's done what he always does, left his dad to do the artwork and got distracted." Jacquie watches her husband and son with evident adoration. 

Vi's crawled to Archie, and is digging her fingers into his fur. He rolls onto his back and begs for belly rubs, so Armie makes sure Livs gets some too. 

"I'll give the kids a snack soon," says Jacquie. "And they'll probably want to paddle in the sea. But then they'll want to go to the play area I'm afraid." 

"Honestly we're not allowed to exercise the puppies too much all at once at the moment anyway," says Armie, watching as Timmy describes a graceful cartwheel across the sand. 

"No?" 

"Yeah, they're not meant to do more than about a half-hour of running at a time," he says, patting the dogs' bellies. "Messes up their joints later apparently." 

"Oh, shit." Jacquie raises her eyebrows. "I had no idea." 

Armie shakes his head. "There's a  _ lot  _ of crap I had no idea about before I got him." 

"Like kids," she laughs. "But hey. You take it as it comes." 

"Mostly what comes with puppies is diarrhoea." 

"Yeah, well, babies too." 

"Mama," says Vi stridently.  _ "Ungy." _

"I know, baby. You want your rice puffs?" 

Vi wriggles happily, crawling back to her mom. Armie takes a firm grip on the harness handles of both the puppies. He answers Jacs' enquiring look. "Just—food. They both tend to go a bit—uh—let's go with 'feral'." 

Jacquie laughs and lifts Vi into her lap, opening the packet for her. "Ha. Here you go, baby." She raises her voice. "Riv? You want a snack? Tyler, babe, Vi's just having some rice puffs so if you want to—" she laughs as Tyler abandons his picture and comes jogging over. "My rice puffs bring all the boys to the yard—" 

Tyler crouches behind her and kisses her shoulder. "Puff me, baby." 

"Good thing your daughter's not possessive with food, huh?" she asks, pushing a rice puff into his mouth over her shoulder. 

Armie looks up as Timmy and River come closer. River's taken his hand and is leaping along next to him, asking to be thrown up in the air. 

Timmy laughs. "Sorry, dude. No  _ way  _ I'm strong enough. Ask Armie." 

They lock eyes, and it feels like a head-to-toe current of electricity. Armie licks his lips and lifts his wrists. "You hold these guys? They've seen the snacks." 

Their hands brush as Timmy takes over the puppyminding, and Armie almost shivers with it. 

Standing up, he reaches down for River, who's practically dancing with anticipation. 

"Riv?" says Tyler seriously. "Three times, okay? And then you'll have your snack. And then no being thrown up in the air for a while." 

"Okay Dad," says the little boy, rolling his eyes. Tyler and Jacquie exchange an amused look. 

"Ready?" asks Armie, taking a few steps away from the blanket. River shrieks with joy as he's thrown into the air, and Armie can't help grinning to hear him having so much fun. 

_ I'll do this with my own kids one day,  _ he thinks, and the thought settles calmly in his chest.  _ I want that. I want to have kids. Really—want them. Not now, not immediately, but—someday.  _ The thought is unfamiliar, strange. He's always  _ assumed _ he'll have kids, but this—this is  _ wanting  _ them. It feels different. 

"Right, that's three," says Jacs firmly, holding out a pack of rice puffs for River too. "Come on you." 

"Mo-om…" 

"Nope, c’mon. Your dad told you what was up, kiddo." 

River sighs and slumps down cross-legged on the blanket. 

"So how long do we have to see the play?" asks Jacquie. "I don't want to miss it." 

Timmy dips his head, fiddling with the clip of Livvy's leash. He's having to hold her back as she scents the wind enthusiastically, and tries to crawl closer to the smell of rice puffs. "It's uh—running until Saturday twenty-seventh." 

"Less than two weeks," says Jacquie, patting Tyler's knee. "We better get our act together, babe." 

"What's next after that?" asks Tyler, stealing another rice puff. "It's not easy getting acting gigs in LA." 

Armie's heart shrivels in his chest.  _ No no no no no— _

"Uh." Timmy doesn't look up. "Actually I'm—I'm heading back home. To—NYC." 

"Oh." Jacquie's eyes flick to Armie, and he can't bear the sympathy written there. 

Armie stares blindly down at the check pattern of the blanket. He wants to walk away, wants to not hear any more of this—

"When's that?" asks Tyler, and Armie mentally begs him to stop. 

"My—my flight home's on the sixth of May." 

_ Three weeks. Well, twenty-two days, but what time is his flight on the sixth? Maybe it’s first thing in the morning and I won’t see him— _

Armie’s stomach squirms miserably. 

_ So now I know exactly. And I’ll be counting down the days, the hours, the fucking minutes _ —

He reaches out and picks up the puppies’ leashes. “Just gonna see if they need to pee.” He winds the long leashes around his arm as he strides quickly away, making sure the puppies don’t have the freedom to roam as far as they had before. 

There’s a small, scrubby patch of grass a few meters back towards the parking lot; Armie takes them there first, then walks them back down towards the shoreline. Skirting the blanket, he doesn't look up at his friends. He just needs a minute of quiet. 

He takes the puppies closer to the surf, and lets them play in it; Livvy especially is amazed, running into the breakers, then backing away again. Archie’s a little more daring, standing in the shallow waves with his mouth open in a smile, tail wagging. 

Armie takes several long, slow breaths. Tries to let himself be absorbed by the calming sound of the sea—

“Archie’s loving it.” Timmy’s voice is quiet next to him. “Livs doesn’t seem quite so sure.” 

Armie tries to smile, but he’s afraid it comes out as a twisted little thing. “Well, if it’s her first time.”

They stand in silence for a minute. 

“Shall I take Livs?” asks Timmy, holding out his hand for the leash. 

It takes Armie a minute to unwind them from his arm, and disentangle the two leashes. He passes Livvy’s over at last, still silent. 

“Are you angry?” asks Timmy, quietly. 

_ Angry?  _ Armie frowns. 

He turns his head, looking into Timmy’s eyes. They’re startlingly green just now.  _ I’m not angry, Timmy. I just feel like my fucking chest is caving in every time I think about you leaving.  _ Slowly, he shakes his head. “Of course not,” he manages, but it’s hardly more than a whisper. 

Timmy’s expression is raw, unguarded. His cheeks and lips are pink with sea air, his curls blowing freely in the wind. Armie wants to tuck them behind his ears, cup his jaw in his hands. Kiss away the anxiety on his face.

“I’m not,” insists Armie. “I swear, baby.” 

Something seems to break in Timmy’s expression at the word. He looks away, staring at the puppies, pressing his lips together tightly. 

_ Fuck. Fuck.  _

Tentatively, Armie places his hand lightly on the nape of Timmy’s neck. His heart is pounding.  _ We’re in public, and my friends are right there— _

_ They don’t care. Nobody cares.  _

_ What the fuck can I say?  _

_ Why did he think I might be angry?  _

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, at last. 

Timmy glances up at him, eyes going wide for a second. He takes a quick breath, as if mentally switching gears. Smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Me too.” He hesitates. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Armie dips his head; he watches Timmy carefully for any sign that he doesn’t want this, that he wants to pull away, but there is none. Instead, Timmy’s eyelashes flutter closed, and he tips his chin ever so slightly up. 

Armie’s heart is beating so loudly that he can’t even hear the waves anymore. It feels like the first time he kissed Timmy in public again, like the eyes of the world are resting hostilely upon him—

Gently, he presses their lips together, brushing his thumb back and forth across the side of Timmy’s neck. 

“Baby…” he murmurs. 

Timmy rests his forehead against Armie’s cheek. Reaches up and winds his arms around Armie’s neck, as best he can with the leash wrapped around one arm.

They watch the puppies together for a while, without speaking. 

“They didn’t know I was leaving,” says Timmy, at last. 

Slowly, Armie shakes his head. “I only told Tyler your name. And that you’re an actor. That was by text, last night.”

“We hadn’t discussed it before. Uh, the date—the day I’m leaving.” 

Armie shakes his head again, closing his eyes. He presses a barely-there kiss to Timmy’s temple. His throat is tight, and he’s not sure he can force out any words. "We still have time," he manages to whisper, at last. 

Timmy nods. His gaze is a thin little flash of golden green from under his eyelashes. 

"Timmy! Timmy!" River shouts, and they turn to see him barreling towards them across the sand. "Will you show me cartwheels again?" 

Timmy laughs. "Sure." He looks up at Armie. "Wait. Can  _ you  _ do cartwheels?" 

"Way too tall." 

"Pretty sure you've got the core strength for it," murmurs Timmy, and suddenly there's an intensity to his gaze that takes Armie's breath. 

Armie feels himself flush; his gaze dips to Timmy's lips. 

They exchange a smile, and Armie looks quickly away towards the puppies. 

*

"Good day?" asks Armie. They're halfway home, and Timmy's hand is resting on his thigh. Both puppies are snoring loudly in the back seat. Timmy's music plays quietly in the background. 

"Really good." Timmy gives him a soft, sideways smile. "You?" 

Armie nods, running his fingers gently over Timmy's for a moment. Before he puts his hand back on the wheel, he lifts Timmy's hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles.  _ I'm so proud you met my friends. That you wanted to be seen with me.  _

"You staying tonight?" asks Armie. "After class?" 

Timmy sighs. "I—should probably go home. Actually change my clothes. Do laundry. Attempt to adult." 

_ Ugh. Sunday night. Monday.  _

"I hate Mondays."  _ I have to wake up without you.  _

Timmy squeezes Armie's thigh. "I'll miss you." 

Armie takes a breath. "I'll miss you too, baby."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and for leaving me such lovely, thoughtful comments 💕

Lena welcomes Archie with open arms on Monday morning. “I missed you boy, didn’t I? I did! Hello. Oh, yes, hello, you ridiculous puppy. I know. I know—” she laughs as Archie wriggles and bounces. “Good weekend?”

Armie smiles. “Good, yeah. Beach yesterday. You?” 

“Mila was with her dad, so I actually saw my friends and slept. Feels strange.” She laughs, taking the bag of Archie’s stuff that Armie hands to her.

“Ha. Sounds like a good one. I better run, you know what the traffic’s like—” 

She puffs out her cheeks in sympathy. “Good luck. I’ll text you a picture of this one at the park later.”

“Thanks Lena. Have a good day, Arch.” 

*

Armie:  **At my desk. Hating life. You better be sleeping, baby ❤️**

Timmy:  **cute + lightly threatening **

Armie:  **The sweet spot, right?**

Timmy:  **yup 😍**

Armie:  **But you responding suggests that you’re not in fact sleeping**

Timmy:  **u going to punish me?**

Armie:  **Huh okay someone woke up feeling good**

Timmy: ** i want u to bite me. leave marks on my thighs**

Timmy:  **i want to be able to press the bruises. see them. make them hurt again, just for me**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Holy shit Timmy**

Timmy:  **i’m so pale...don’t u think i’d look good with some color?**

Armie:  **Move that sheet**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **like this?**

Armie:  **Tease**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **this?**

Armie:  **I mean that’s more moving your hand under the sheet but...I’ll take it**

Armie:  **And now I’m supposed to get through this day how, precisely?**

Timmy:  **if only you’d worked at home huh**

Timmy:  **u could’ve sent me some pictures too**

Armie:  **You’re very wordy for someone who’s typing one-handed **

Timmy:  **i have time mon beau. no need to rush. can still use my right hand for typing rn **

Armie:  **I have a meeting in five and I'm not decent to go to it **

Timmy:  **go to the bathroom. and send me video 😏**

Armie:  **You really do not care about the cloud do you baby **

Timmy: 😅  **rn i'm not thinking with my brain armand**

Timmy:  **i'm just thinking about your shoulders. and stomach. and dick**

Armie:  **Fuck. Now I have to go hide my hard on in a meeting. Enjoy.**

Timmy:  **[image] **

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **miss u** 😕 

Armie:  **You're killing me here baby. Going to get lunch with a client now. Miss you too. Send me a selfie? Your face makes my day better.**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **how come you're hot af + love me sending you jerk pics but also just want to see my face???? how did i find you. what is life. who are you**

Armie:  **What kind of fucking asshole wouldn't want to see your face? You're stunning**

Armie:  **Seriously I don't understand the question**

Armie:  **As for who am I? I'm the idiot who has a full day of meetings and scheduled training at the gym right after so I can't go take a long shower and think about those pictures you sent until tonight**

Armie:  **Client arriving x **

Timmy: ** i hope u remember i need my sweaty gym selfies **

Armie: ** [image] **

Armie: ** [image] **

Armie:  **It's your fault I'm one of those assholes who takes shirtless selfies in locker rooms now**

Timmy:  ** _Damn_ **

Armie:  **I'm going to pick up Arch then go home and take a long shower**

Armie:  **You must be on your way to work **

Armie:  **Break a leg baby. **

*

Knowing he'd need the distraction, Armie had scheduled another training session on Tuesday, directly after therapy. His trainer comes through, giving him a punishing cardio workout before they move on to some deadlifts. 

Sweating on the rowing machine, Armie's mind picks over his therapy session. 

_ "It sounds as though meeting Tyler and his family went very well."  _

_ Armie nods. "Timmy was—they were—I can't really believe how well it went." He bites his lip.  _

_ "But?" asks his therapist.  _

_ "But I…it was—I think I made him…sad. Because all I could think about was him leaving, and—and Tyler asked him when he's flying and it's the sixth. His flight home's on the sixth and that's twenty days—and…" Armie shrugs. "But it was such a nice day? He didn't deserve me being depressing. I just—when I think about him leaving…" he swallows, then shrugs. "And he thought I might be angry, which just—bothers me. Does he think I'd get angry at him?"  _

_ Jane half-shrugs. "Perhaps you seemed angry. Not necessarily at him. Perhaps at the situation."  _

_ Armie takes a breath. His chest is tight. "If I tell him what I'm thinking—how much I don't want him to go—it's—that would be…a lot. We literally only met three weeks ago."  _

_ His therapist accepts the point. Tips her head slightly to the side. "It bothers you that he thought you were angry. Could you tell me some more about that?"  _

_ Armie blinks. He's learned to follow Jane's lead, though. It's always helpful. "I—don't want him to think I'm a—danger to him, or something. I'm—I'm always bigger than people. Taller. Anger isn't a good look on—this." He loosely indicates his long frame with his right hand.  _

_ "Okay." Jane nods. She's thinking about the point, but Armie can tell she's sure there's more to it. "Have you heard from your mother again recently?"  _

_ He sighs. Half-shrugs. "A couple texts. Missed calls."  _

_ "We've spoken before about your reluctance to open a dialogue with her."  _

_ Armie knots his hands together in his lap. Feels himself hunching his shoulders slightly, and tries to reopen his posture. Sits back, and takes a breath. "It—wouldn't be a dialogue. It never has been."  _

_ Her eyebrows raise slightly. She lays her palms flat on her thighs. "Tell me more about that."  _

_ Frowning, Armie orders his thoughts. "My mom is very religious." Jane knows that, of course; but Armie pauses, trying to think about how best to express what he means. "She—believes very strongly. Almost stubbornly. God—or—the Bible, as interpreted by her, anyway—is always present in her mind."  _

_ Jane nods once, in silence.  _

_ "She filters everything—all her reactions—through God. Her understanding of God." Armie takes a long, slow breath. "It's—it's never a dialogue, because God's always in the argument too. And he's always on her side." He stares at the soles of Jane's unglamorous shoes. "I learned to just—apologize. Not bother debating. Because I was always in the wrong, and if I set myself against my mom, I was setting myself against God. And that was—that's actually a pretty unassailable position." He gives a wry little huff of laughter. "So."  _

_ "And with Elizabeth?" asks Jane. "In eight years together, you must have had arguments. Did you debate? Did you tell her how you were feeling?"  _

_ Armie thinks about it carefully. Presses his thumbs together in his lap. Crosses one leg over the other. "I—mostly just apologized," he admits, at last. "Not so much in relation to—to God, but she was always prepared to tell me how she was right. And I'd—just accept it. Or—not always accept it, but—I guess—I just wanted the argument to stop."  _

_ Jane nods. Folds her hands together. "When a child has a parent who will not listen or engage in certain ways, the child learns to become conflict avoidant—for example, by deflecting arguments using a quick apology. But they are also forced to manage, or hide, their emotions in a way that other children are not." She leans forward slightly. "You deflected arguments as a child by hiding your frustration or anger. You learned to fear showing your emotions, in case it brought conflict and ultimately, a confrontation with both your mother and the—as you say—unassailable force of God's will."  _

_ Her words feel true. Armie clears his throat, and nods.  _

_ "As an adult, it's very easy to allow those patterns to continue. To replicate them, including in romantic relationships."  _

_ Armie takes a breath. Nods again.  _

_ "It will be an important step for you when you are able to communicate your emotions honestly to a partner, to discuss them openly. Even if that brings conflict." Jane watches him calmly, kindly. "Not everyone carries the same conviction as your mother—and to some extent, as your ex-partner—that they are absolutely right. Not everyone will defend their position in a discussion as if it was an argument or a debate. Most people just want to understand their partner's emotions. Remember that because of your upbringing, it may feel as though any revelation of your emotions will lead to a fight, to conflict. But that's not necessarily true. At all."  _

_ Armie sighs, shakily. Relief is coursing through him. A thought unlocks. "It—wasn't only bad emotions," he murmurs, after a minute. "I mean—not just—anger, or whatever. Sometimes I would be happy and loud and messy or—but it was for the wrong reason. Something ungodly. Against her ideas of God's sense of—decorum?" he shrugs, half-laughing. Sobers with a realization. "I guess I just—don't show how I'm feeling, much."  _

*

Timmy:  **morning sexy**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Timmy why are you awake at this hour**

Armie:  **Holy shit. Look at you**

Timmy: ** [image]**

Timmy:  **figured i'd help you start your day right **

Timmy:  **don't get me wrong i love teasing you at work. imagining you all hard + needy in your business suit **

Timmy:  **but morning sex is the best**

Armie:  **Agreed. I want to suck you **

Timmy:  **please tell me you're already getting off**

Armie:  **Left handed texting only baby. Sorry for mistakes **

Timmy:  **[image] **

Timmy:  **[video] **

Armie:  **Dying**

Timmy:  **so i know u care about the cloud but???**

Armie:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **fuckkkkk**

Timmy:  **Armie**

Armie:  **yes baby**

Timmy's FaceTime call appears on the screen immediately. Armie takes a breath before answering. Takes his hand off his cock. He blushes, bashful even though he knows Timmy wants this as much as he does. 

"Hey." 

Timmy's eyes are bright green, his lips bitten red. His face resolves into better quality as the call stabilizes. "Fuck, you're hot." 

Armie laughs, still blushing. 

"And I love your little fangs when you laugh." 

Armie makes an inarticulate little  _ argh  _ noise, and rubs his chin with his hand. 

Timmy's lying on his side, curls crushed on the pillow, a wild mess. His eyes are sleepy, but mischievous. "Did you stop getting off?" 

Armie gives an embarrassed little grin. "Seemed—rude? To answer the call jerking off." 

Timmy giggles, and rolls onto his back. "I want to watch. I want to see you come." 

Arousal tugs and flares fiercely in Armie's chest. "Same. Show me." 

Timmy tips the camera, lets it travel down his body. There are discarded boxers on the corner of the bed. The duvet lies crumpled across his hip, groin, and stomach, hiding his clearly-hard cock. 

Armie longs to lick at his little nipples, kiss his hipbones, bite at the slight softness of his belly. "Fuck," he breathes, laying his palm flat across his own stomach. 

The camera flicks back up to Timmy's face. "Let me see you," he demands, sweet but greedy. 

Armie swallows. Tips his phone to show Timmy the discarded duvet, his hard cock pressing against the fabric of his boxers. 

"Mmmph," Timmy groans. "Didn't you already have your hand inside those when I called?" 

"Yes," admits Armie, quietly. 

"Show me." 

Armie bites his lip, glad Timmy can't see his face, his nervousness. Slips his right hand back into his boxers, and palms his cock. Wraps his hand around the base, but doesn't move it. 

"Fuck. Armie, we need to play with camera angles. I need your face  _ and  _ your hand." Timmy sounds soft and fond; sounds like he's smiling. 

Armie brings the camera back up, overwhelmed again by the crisp beauty of Timmy's features. "Same." 

"Move the phone a bit higher? And kind of…tilt it a bit?" Timmy giggles as Armie moves it too far. "No—" 

Armie huffs a laugh and corrects the angle. "There. Happy?" 

"Fuck  _ me,  _ Armie. You look so good." 

"I look sleepy." 

"I  _ love _ waking up with you. You're fucking cute when you yawn." 

"You need to get  _ your  _ camera angle sorted, baby. Let me see you." 

Timmy plays with his phone, holding it up higher. "Am I gonna make you late for work?" 

Armie smiles. "Pretty sure that…won't be a problem." 

Huffing a giggle, Timmy nods. "Yeah…um. Same." He licks his bottom lip. "Push your boxers down?" 

"Take them off?" asks Armie. "Or just—" 

"Just—just push them down. I like that." 

_ I like that.  _ The words are so simple, but they sear a quick twist of arousal through Armie's gut all the same.  _ He likes that. He tells me what he likes. He likes me.  _

Timmy shifts against the pillows; arches his back slightly, a long fluid movement that ends with a roll of the hips. Pushes the duvet aside. 

He's naked: pale and slim and  _ tall,  _ actually, Armie knows—just not as tall as him, because hardly anyone is. 

"Move your hand," Timmy murmurs, his own right fist wrapping around his cock. His eyes fall half-lidded with pleasure at the touch, and his gaze moves lazily across Armie's face and body. 

Armie begins to stroke himself slowly, feeling already the electricity of his touch under Timmy's gaze, so much more powerful than if he was doing this alone. 

"So you liked my pictures the other day?" asks Timmy. His voice is deep, intimate, its early-morning tone. Armie wants to kiss his throat and bring him coffee. 

"I did. A  _ lot.  _ In the shower," returns Armie, with a grin. 

"Hmm." Timmy's expression is smug.  _ "Good."  _

"You  _ really _ love winding me up at work." 

"I do." Timmy grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I always think about sucking you at your desk. Can't help it. Knowing you're just sitting there in your suit being hot does that to me." 

Armie grimaces a smile, and Timmy laughs. 

"Am I complimenting you too much?" 

_ "Yes.  _ Always." 

"Bad luck, sexy. Fuck, you really are just…" Timmy shakes his head and bites his lip. "Do you have lube? I'm going to get lube." The camera shakes and moves as he half-sits up and leans away to the nightstand. 

Armie does the same, and when he touches his cock again it's a long, slick slide. 

Timmy's watching him with a hungry look. "Fuck, Armie," he sighs, thrusting slightly into his hand. His cock is flushed pink and glistening with lube. "Wish I was doing this while sucking you." 

Armie's breath catches at the thought. "I…need to see that." 

"I'd want you standing. And I'd kneel at your feet and look up at you. Try to take as much of your cock in my mouth as possible. Put your hand in my hair. And get myself off while you watch." 

"You like when I pull your hair, baby?" the thought makes Armie's chest tight with need. 

"Yes. Fuck. Please. I like it to hurt a little." Timmy takes a shaky little breath. His strokes have sped up, and Armie matches them, pleasurable tension coiling through his stomach and thighs. "Would you let me come like that?" asks Timmy quietly. "I'd—wait until you were coming, but then when you were…" 

"Yes." Armie's voice is deep, decisive. "Fuck, yes." He imagines it: Timmy's lips going a little slack as he groans, lost in his own pleasure as Armie thrusts and starts to come on his tongue— 

Armie stops moving his hand for a moment; takes a breath. When he resumes stroking, he does so at a more measured pace. 

Timmy grins knowingly. "Feeling good?" 

Armie shoots him a look, and an answering smile. "You know I am." 

"It's so much better with you," groans Timmy, rolling his hips. 

Armie imagines making him kneel, making him fuck his fist until he paints the bedsheets with his come. "I know," he murmurs in return. Then, "I haven't been sending you the same kind of material to work with though." 

Timmy gives him a soft, mischievous look. "I don't know about that. A gym selfie from you can set me up for the night." 

Armie snorts. "I'm flattered." 

Timmy laughs, then gasps and slows his hand. "Armie…" 

"Feeling good?" teases Armie, and laughs when Timmy flips him the bird. "Nothing would get me off right now like watching you come, baby." 

Timmy makes a soft little  _ mmmph  _ sound. "Fuck. I love it when you call me that." He's just holding his cock now, no longer stroking it. His stomach and chest are rising and falling quickly. “I’m—close. Sorry. That’s—fast.” 

Armie smiles. “Don’t apologize. You know I’m in the same state.” 

Slowly, Timmy begins moving his hand again. His lips part slightly on a silent gasp. 

Watching, Armie matches his pace to Timmy’s, imagining Timmy here, touching  _ him—  _

The breathy little sounds Timmy makes are intoxicating; they catch at Armie’s heart, and curl like lava in his belly. 

_ “Fuck. _ Need to speed up, Tim…”

Timmy nods, and he pumps his cock faster; Armie matches his pace again, rolling his hips, fucking up into his fist— 

Arousal runs through him like a slow-rolling wave as he realizes that Timmy’s copying his movements in return, that he’s started to fuck his fist. 

“Good boy,” murmurs Armie. “Shit, baby, you look so fucking good—”

Timmy’s breath catches; he bites his bottom lip, leaving a crescent imprint of red marks. “Armie—Armie, can I—”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Come for me.”

Timmy gives a soft little groan, lips pink and open, and Armie can’t help but imagine pressing the head of his cock between them— 

His thighs are tense, shaking with need, with the effort of balancing on the brink as he watches Timmy’s lips form one last silent  _ Armie,  _ as he watches him start to come, spilling over his hand and chest and belly—

And Armie follows him, unstoppably, because watching Timmy stroke himself with his own come is too much, it’s  _ too fucking much  _ to resist— 

After a minute, they’re just breathing together, and smiling, and Armie’s brain is blissfully slow. His only thoughts are  _ Timmy’s eyes, they’re hazel now,  _ and  _ if he was here I’d brush that curl back from his cheek,  _ and  _ I want to lick the come from his belly,  _ and  _ he should be here, he should be here, he should be here.  _

“Wish we could shower together.” Timmy says, quietly. 

_ He looks kind of sad.  _ “I was just thinking the same thing.” Armie suppresses a sigh. “Although you should be going back to sleep, baby.” 

"You're always trying to get me to sleep." 

"Well you never do." 

"Not  _ never…" _

Armie laughs. "Your tone." 

Rolling his eyes, Timmy giggles. "Okay, okay." The camera shifts; Timmy sits up and grabs his boxers from the bottom corner of his bed; wipes his stomach, chest and hand. Curls onto his side, camera focusing more narrowly on his face and neck. 

Armie wriggles his boxers down and cleans himself up too; rolls onto his side, pretending to himself that Timmy's here beside him, head on the pillow. The ache of missing him tugs sharply in his chest. 

"How was therapy?" asks Timmy softly. 

Armie blows out a breath. "Yeah. Um—good. Fine. You know." 

Timmy's eyes are kaleidoscopic golden-green in the morning sunshine, and full of gentle empathy. "How will your day be?" 

"Couple meetings. Mostly just emails and spreadsheets." He shrugs. 

Timmy gives him a rolling-eyes smile. "Quit the damn job, Doug." 

"But. Money. Making a living. You know. The essentials." 

"The  _ essentials? _ Dude, c'mon. I kind of—figured you were fine for money. Like, I feel like you could probably pay yourself a normal person's wage for several years, right? From—savings, or whatever. And just—do something you're excited about." 

Armie half-shrugs. "I know…" 

"I hate when your voice goes all flat and meh when you talk about work." 

"'Meh'?" 

"Yeah. Shut up, grandpa." 

"Oof. Good thing you're  _ not _ here. Cheeky little fucker." 

"I'd rather be there so you can punish me." Timmy sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth and grins. 

"Do  _ not  _ start, Hal." 

"I mean, I have to wind you up at work at least a  _ little. _ It's a tradition." 

"A daily tradition." 

"Yup." 

Armie takes a breath; licks his lips. "Do you—remember what you asked me, Saturday night?" 

Timmy wrinkles his nose in the gesture that always causes a tug of affection behind Armie's heart. "Uh—?" 

"It was right before you fell asleep—" 

"Oh, you mean after you tied me up and teased me and sucked me until I came so hard I saw stars?" Timmy grins. "Nah. No. I don't." 

"You—asked if I'd ever thought about fucking you." Armie's heart jolts with nerves as he says the words out loud. He wonders what his expression is saying right now.

Timmy takes a quick breath. "Oh." He bites his lip, watching Armie carefully. "What—did you say?" 

"I—didn't really answer." 

Slowly, Timmy nods. "I…really wasn't trying to put pressure, or—you know a lot of couples don't do that at all, so…" 

_ Fuck. He thinks you don't want to.  _

"I'm open to it," says Armie, in a rush. "I just…" he swallows. "Shit, I don't want to be—I just—"

"Hey." Timmy's looking at him with soft, thoughtful eyes. "You really don't need to worry about this Armie—" 

Armie can feel himself blushing. He forces the next words out. "Do you always—do you prefer—" 

For a second, Timmy looks confused, then his expression clears. "I mostly bottom," he says calmly. "But it kind of depends who I'm with. Some dudes have a super-specific role they prefer. Others are more prepared to switch. I'm happy to…go with the flow." 

Slowly, Armie nods. His heart is hammering in his chest.  _ How can he be so calm about discussing this?  _

"Did you—do you think I'd have a—role?" he asks, hoarsely. 

Timmy's eyebrows rise, but his tone is still calm when he responds. "I guess since you're dominant I assumed you'd want to top. But there's no actual reason those things should go together." Quickly, he adds, "Armie, I really wasn't trying to—there's like, zero reason we need to—" 

"I want everything with you, while you're here." The words tumble out, and Armie doesn't understand them until they're already said. 

There's a flash of something— _ hurt? doubt? anxiety? _ Armie isn't sure—in Timmy's eyes. 

"You can have anything you want." Timmy's voice is deep, but quiet. He takes a breath. "Uh—have you seen the time, though?" 

_ "Crap."  _ Armie groans. "Shit, I have to run. Time for the world's quickest shower and puppy drop-off." 

Timmy smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Text me later?" 

"'Course I will." Armie nods, and smiles when Timmy blows him a kiss. "Later, baby." 

*

Armie stays an extra hour at work, to make up for arriving ten minutes late in the morning. On the way home he calls in at the grocery store, then picks up Archie. 

He taps his fingers on the wheel in traffic, checking on Archie in the mirror. 

_ If he stays over this weekend we could try then. But maybe I should book the puppies in with Lena. Not sure I could deal with trying anal sex for the first time knowing they were locked in their crates in the other room, needing to go out and pee or go for a walk or getting hungry.  _

_ But if I book them in with Lena that turns it into a whole thing, an appointment to have sex—is that hot? At all?  _

_ Fuck. I've barely even watched gay porn— _

Once home, he puts away the groceries, changes into jeans and a t-shirt, does a quick 'sit', 'down' and 'heel' training session with Archie, then takes him out for a walk. 

Armie:  **[image] **

Armie:  **had a long day at work so only just taking Archie out for his walk. Guess you're at the theater already **

Timmy:  **archie 😍 yeh waiting to go on **

Timmy:  **listen about earlier i feel like i freaked u out **

Timmy:  **when actually i wanted to make u feel chill + well-fucked for the day 😅 fail **

Armie:  **No. I freaked myself out. As usual. **

Timmy:  **you always blame urself! but i genuinely meant it when i said we don't need to do anal **

Timmy:  **if it was something u really wanted id be down but idk **

Armie takes a long, shivery breath. 

Armie:  **I meant it when I said I want everything with you. **

_ Everything, Timmy. Do you understand? Fucking everything. _

Timmy:  **well just think about it carefully ok? everything we do in bed is hot af armie so i'm not missing anything **

Armie has Archie sit before they cross the road; rewards him with a piece of kibble when they reach the other side. Allows him to thoroughly sniff a hedge. 

Armie:  **Are you going out with your theater people Friday night? I could come pick you up again. Get Livs from Saoirse on the way **

Timmy:  **haven't asked if there's a plan to go but there usually is **

Timmy:  **yes please ** 😍 

Timmy:  **going on 😘**

Armie:  **Break a leg x **

*

Thursday, Armie's stupidly busy at work; he doesn't get a chance to text Timmy until lunchtime. 

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **The old lab is here again! **

Timmy: 😍😍😍  **u should find out his name **

Timmy:  **\+ steal him **

Armie:  **You are why I don't leave Archie tied up outside stores **

Timmy:  **i do follow you around waiting to steal him **

Armie:  **Oh I see. All of this is just a long con huh **

Timmy:  **OMG ROM-COM PLOT THO RIGHT **

Timmy:  **conman who steals + sells people's rare-breed dogs + he decides the easiest way to get the hot dude's rare dog is to date him**

Timmy:  **but he gets in too deep + falls in love + when he steals Hot Dude's dog he can't stop imagining how sad Hot Dude will be so he brings the dog back, confesses everything + proposes instead**

Timmy:  **think i'm onto a winner here**

Timmy:  **Also the dog is heartbreakingly sad when he's taken away from his Hot Dad + the conman can't take the puppy whining + crying**

Timmy:  **noooooo I made myself sad 😭 **

Armie:  **😂 baby. You're the cutest, I swear. **

_ I think he might be the funniest, weirdest, best person I've ever met in my life.  _

Timmy:  **see u think that now but when i steal your dog……. **

Armie:  **I'm just a mark to you aren't I **

Timmy:  **😅🤭 **

*

It's late; Archie's shut in his crate in the living room.

Timmy must be on stage still, though near to the end of the show.

And Armie's in bed, browsing porn on his phone. 

Until now, he's only really allowed himself to watch threesomes with two men and one woman. He knows it's a sign of his internalised feelings about men having sex with one another; he's pretty sure he's using the presence of a woman as a kind of legitimation so that the men are 'allowed' to touch. 

But right now, he's searching for clips of anal sex that don't make his chest ache with anxiety. 

Every thumbnail image he sees puts him off.

_ I've been taught to associate it with pain and degradation,  _ he thinks miserably.  _ I can't separate it from the idea of being unmanly.  _

He's hard, of course, because there are naked bodies and open mouths and hard cocks and comeshots galore but—but—

Armie locks his phone, drops it on his chest, and stares at the ceiling. Runs his hand up into his hair and pulls, hard. Screws up his eyes and hates himself in silence. 

_ How can I love what Timmy and I do together so much, but find this so hard to deal with?  _

His phone vibrates on his chest. 

Timmy:  **omfg so tired. so wired**

Timmy:  **hope ur sleeping**

Timmy:  **heading to pick up livs**

Armie:  **Not sleeping. **

Timmy:  **armiiiiieeee 😍 i secretly love that ur still awake so i can talk to u **

Armie:  **How was the show? **

Timmy:  **good i think 🤭 didn't fuck anything up anyway **

Timmy:  **did u have a good evening? what u up to? **

Armie:  **Evening was fine. Gym. Made eggplant katsu curry (got a new recipe book).**

The message delivers, but Timmy doesn't see it yet.  _ He must be driving.  _ Armie swallows.

_ It will be an important step for you when you are able to communicate your emotions honestly to a partner, to discuss them openly.  _

He types slowly, heart pounding. 

Armie:  **To be totally honest…I'm trying to watch porn. I really hope this doesn't come across hateful (I know it can't be easy dating someone with issues like this) but I'm trying to find anal porn to figure out how I feel about it. It's kind of freaking me out and I think I associate it with a bunch of negative stuff. Which I HATE and I wish I could change but I'm not sure how **

Armie:  **Again being painfully honest I've barely watched gay porn at all and I'm struggling I think **

Armie:  **I'm really sorry to put this on you but I want to try to be honest / open so you don't think I don't want you **

Armie:  **I hope it doesn't seem like I'm pushing a bunch of homophobic crap at you. I honestly don't mean to **

It's a few minutes until Timmy sees the messages and starts to type; by which time Armie is a mess, fully expecting an angry response. 

Timmy:  **armie nothing you've said is homophobic**

Timmy:  **no it's not easy hearing that you struggle to accept what you want but that's because i want you to be happy, not because i think you're being hateful **

Timmy:  **if i feel anger at anyone it's at the people who taught you feeling attraction for your own gender is wrong. not you. absolutely not you **

Armie takes a long, slow, shaky breath. 

Armie:  **Being open with what I feel and need is new for me. I'm trying but I'm still not very good at it. And I'm sorry for that **

Timmy:  **i'm so proud of u ok **

Timmy:  **which is funny to say in the context of a conversation about porn, but i am 😅 **

Timmy:  **also uhhh porn isn't exactly ur first port of call for info about anal lol **

Timmy:  **some of the ones with xxl dicks, not enough lube + tiny bleached holes make me want to cry or scream + not in a good way ** 😂 

Timmy:  **real anal is…well. did u ever do it with ur ex? **

Armie:  **No**

Timmy:  **well it doesn't have to involve anyone's dick going anywhere **

Timmy:  **a finger or two feels great too **

Timmy:  **finding the prostate can be kind of difficult but very worth it once u do **

Timmy:  **it all requires a LOT of trust + open communication + being with someone u don't mind being a bit embarrassed in front of 😅 **

Timmy:  **no matter what u do it probably won't be some kind of perfect fairytale **

Timmy:  **unlikely you'll hit all the perfect places first time. or even second time **

Timmy:  **if ur partner has a big dick (+ yes i'm looking at u here) it can feel a bit like having ur insides rearranged **

Timmy:  **but also just…really fucking good **

Timmy:  **a lot of it is about trust + letting someone past ur boundaries i guess. but that's NOT to say i think anything will be lacking if ur just not interested **

Timmy:  **i had a fwb at college who wasn't into it even tho he was super gay. so we didn't do it 🤷♀️ sex with him was still great **

Timmy:  **whoa wall of text. i'm going to shut up now **

Armie:  **Don't shut up. This is all incredibly good to hear. **

Timmy:  **i mean i guess my other thought about porn is that no matter what gender ur looking at a lot of it is just nasty. mechanical banging isn't going to help u like the idea of anal**

Timmy:  **hang on**

Timmy:  **[link]**

Timmy: ** [link]**

Timmy:  **[link]**

Timmy:  **try these. yes i do have them bookmarked + no i will not be accepting questions about that at this time** 🤭 

Timmy:  **but honestly armie u don't have to try + make urself like anything ok **

Timmy:  **also now i'm going to try + function enough to eat dinner even tho i'm both missing u (because ur cute + i want to hug u) + ridiculously horny (because i know ur watching porn) **

Armie can't help laughing at that. 

Armie:  **I…will try not to be embarrassed that you know I'm watching porn **

Armie:  **Though the fact you sent it to me from your bookmarks has me both comforted and turned on **

Timmy: 😏  **go away + watch porn **

Armie:  **JFC** 🤦

The clips are amateur; the guys in them are attractive, but normal and proportionate in body size. And most of all, the couples seem to  _ like  _ one another. There's laughter, and preparation, and a lot of lube. There's readjustment to find the right angle, and more laughter, and then lightness that turns into groaning and swearwords and coming and slow, languid kisses—

Armie:  **Okay those were actually really hot **

Timmy:  **yep. it's totally possible to find cute porn it just takes a LOT of time and a LOT of effort lol **

Timmy:  **did u get off? **

Armie: **No. But I need to.** **Can we FaceTime? **

Timmy:  **fuck yes 😏**


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful readers, stay safe in these scary times. Thank you so much for reading. 💙

Timmy: **happy friday! today i get to see you 😍 **

Armie: **You've definitely not had enough sleep this week. I'm going to make you stay in bed all weekend when you're not working **

Timmy: 😏😏😏 

Armie: **Yes I'm fully aware I'm the reason you didn't get enough sleep last night. But it was so good **

Timmy: **fuck yes it was **

Armie: **Ok question. If I booked the puppies in with Lena for a while this weekend so we could get some uninterrupted time alone, would Sunday be best? I feel bad for locking them in their crates the whole time **

Timmy: **is this a time alone to fuck thing? **

Armie takes a deep breath. 

Armie: **Yes. If you want to. **

Timmy: **armie…i really feel like i've pressured u into something here **

Armie: **I don't actually know how I could have been less pressured Tim. Don't be ridiculous **

Timmy: **i just don't think this wouldve been on ur radar if i hadn't mentioned it in a dick coma**

Armie snorts, wiping a hand across his grin. 

Armie: **A what now**

Timmy: **u know, when u've been dicked down so good u can't stay awake 😅**

Armie: **Oh my god**

Armie: **I want to fuck a man who says 'dick coma'**

Timmy: **regretting ur life choices huh **

Armie: **Well, yes. Always. But not the bit with you in. **

Timmy: **anyway uve already been fucking a man who says dick coma. non-penetrative sex is still sex **

Armie: **Ok deep breath… maybe it wouldn't have been on my radar. But you weren't on my radar four weeks ago and now you are. And I'm grateful for that. So. I guess I'm learning to just be open to new things that could be great. **

Timmy: **armie… **

Timmy:** being on your radar sounds like a good place to be 😏 **

Armie: **Fucking hell. Can I get through one morning at work without being inappropriately turned on **

Timmy: **idk can you??? **

Armie: **Fucker. **

Timmy: 😅 

Timmy: **well sunday i don't have anywhere to be except puppy class in the evening **

Armie: **Then I'll check in with Lena and see if she can have them. **

Timmy: **damn armie i'm 🥺 **

Timmy: **how tf do YOU want to have sex with ME**

Armie: **Don't, baby. I'm constantly asking myself why the hell you want me in your bed **

Timmy:** [image]**

Armie: **😂 Don't give me that look **

Timmy: **don't say dumb shit then **

Armie: **Alright alright alright **

Armie: **You're beautiful, even when you're glaring at me. **

Timmy: 🥺😭 

*

Armie: **[image] **

Armie: **Thought you might like a salad update **

Timmy: ☺️☺️ 

Timmy: **[image] **

Timmy: **sometimes my puppy's almost too cute??? **

Armie: **Look at that face **

Armie: **I also need your face please **

Timmy: **[image] **

Timmy: **i only just got up so my hair is a nightmare **

Armie: **Baby don't. I can't wait to see you later. Pick you up around midnight? **

Timmy: **if ur sure. can i get a selfie too? **

Armie: **[image] **

Timmy: **damn, doug. you're pretty ❤️ **

*

Armie: **Hi Saoirse! Ok if I swing by around 11:30 tonight to get Livs? Picking Timmy up from work after. **

Saoirse: **Sure. And I have some names / phone numbers for a going-away party. Shall I start a group text? **

Armie: **That would be great. Thank you so much for doing that. I'll call the bar later and reserve a booth**

Saoirse: 👍 **You're thinking Saturday, right? 4th?**

Armie: **I figured that would be best since most theaters close Sundays, so people can sleep off their hangovers. And it gives Timmy a full day to recover before he flies **

Saoirse: **Cool** 👍

*

During the afternoon, Armie has meetings; he can feel his phone vibrating with messages in the group chat that Saoirse has started. 

There are no words for his gratitude that Saoirse is prepared to be the main coordinator of the group; he can only imagine the awkwardness if he had to introduce himself and define his role in Timmy's life._ 'Hi, I'm Timmy's—' _

Timmy's...what? Not 'boyfriend'. That's not really on the table, given the short amount of time they've spent together. 

_ 'The guy Timmy's been dating for a couple of weeks'? _

_ 'The guy Timmy's fucking at the moment'? _

After work, Armie calls the bar and makes a booking, then quickly confirms the time and place in the group. His heart beats unreasonably hard as he sends the message, but no-one questions who he is; there are just a few thumbs-up emojis and 'cool thanks' in return. 

At the gym, Armie works out hard and sends Timmy a very sweaty selfie when he's done. 

Timmy: **DAMN, ARMIE**

Timmy: **i'm out for a walk with livs + dude i'm**

Timmy: **fuck i have to just exist with this now huh**

Timmy: **6hrs til i see u** ❤️ 

Armie: **Sending you selfies is rewarding. Your reactions are very flattering**

Timmy: **mmmmmmfffff**

Timmy: **like. damn**

Armie: 🤦😂

*

Armie's sitting in the parking lot of the bar—puppies in their crates in the back—when Tyler texts. 

Tyler: **[image]**

Snorting a laugh, Armie squints at the image, and zooms in to look closer. 

Armie: **Did she escape again?! **

Tyler: **We don't know how she learned to open the door **

Tyler: **She was just sitting in the garden in her diaper **

Armie: **Holy shit Vi **

Tyler: **Jacs is googling more effective baby locks**

Armie: 😂 

Tyler: **What you up to**

Armie: **Waiting for T at the bar he goes to with the crew from his theater**

Tyler: **Not going in?**

Armie: **I have the puppies in the car with me**

Tyler: **You've not met them then? **

Armie: **I will. T's closest friend here and I are arranging a going-away party for the weekend before he leaves. Invited some of the theater crew**

There's a pause before the next message arrives.

Tyler: **Bummer Timmy has to leave so soon**

Armie closes his eyes for a second. 

Armie: **Yeah pretty much...sucks**

Tyler: **Long-distance? **

Armie's fingers shake as he types. 

Armie: **He's 21. Pretty sure he wouldn't be into that**

Tyler sees the message but doesn't reply. 

Armie: **He'll be back home with his family and friends **

Tyler: **Don't give up on it **

Tyler: **Sometimes something seems totally dumb to the rest of the world but it's just the right person and there's nothing you can do about it **

Armie: **Not everyone is as lucky as you and Jacs**

Tyler: **It's not all luck. When it happens you do anything to make it happen. You don't give up on it**

Armie takes a long, shaky breath. 

Armie: **Didn't expect a lecture on romance **

Tyler: **Don't want to see you make a dumb mistake you regret**

The door of the bar swings open, and there's a quick, overwhelming swoop of recognition and nerves in Armie's stomach as he sees _ Timmy— _

Armie: **We've only known each other a few weeks**

He shoves his phone quickly into his pocket and climbs out of the car. Timmy's face lights up and he waves, walking faster and hunching his shoulders with the embarrassment of being watched—

Just then the bar door swings again, and a short, heavy-set guy with a beard and tattoos emerges from the bar. "Timmy. Wait up, man." He catches up to Timmy and they draw closer; Armie can't hear details, but he's saying something about the next day's show. 

Timmy's restless, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet; his cheeks are a little flushed, his eyes bright. Armie wonders if he's buzzed, or wired from stage, or both. The urge to reach out and draw him close is almost overwhelming. 

"Joel, Armie. Armie, Joel." Timmy mumbles it quickly, awkwardly, New York accent very evident. His eyes telegraph an apology for this impromptu meeting. 

Joel holds out a hand, and Armie takes it for a quick shake. 

_ "You're _ the reason he keeps turning up in giant shirts," says Joel, with a grin. "Nice to meet you, man." 

Armie can't help an awkward little laugh. "Uh. Well he does keep stealing my shit." 

Timmy punches him softly in the side, half-shaking his head. 

Joel laughs. "I better get home. Amy'll be reading bedtime story number five probably, by now. Tomorrow." He waves and sets off for his car. 

Timmy gives Armie an awkward, oblique little grin. "Hey. Sorry. That's Joel, he works lighting. His wife Amy's the stage manager. They alternate who has to go home early on Fridays." 

_ Don't apologize, _ Armie wants to say. _ Please don't. _ The words stick in his throat. Instead he reaches out and cups the back of Timmy's head with his hand, pulling him up and into a kiss, ignoring the urgent internal monologue of _ there's a guy I don't really know getting into his car right over there, what if he— _

_ No-one cares, Armie. It's okay. _

Timmy yields to the kiss, pushing up on tiptoes and smiling as Armie gently bites his bottom lip. He tastes of orange juice.

"Vodka orange, huh?" smiles Armie. 

Timmy huffs a laugh, and nods. "Got the babies?" 

"Of course. In their cages." 

Giggling, Timmy goes around to the passenger side and climbs in, poking his fingers through the bars of Livs' crate as she throws herself towards him. 

Armie gets in too, settling behind the wheel. Grabbing his arm and pulling him close, Timmy kisses him hard. 

"Missed you, Doug." 

"Mmm." Armie turns and slides his hand to the nape of Timmy's neck; pulls him in again. 

"Take me home please," mumbles Timmy, and Armie knows it just means _ take me to bed, _but he can't help the way his heart turns over in his chest all the same. 

_ Home. _

Timmy's hand lands on Armie's thigh as he starts the engine. It feels warm, and familiar, and _ right. _

*

"Promise I won't just cry on your counter this time," grins Timmy. He wraps his arms around Armie's neck. "Need you." 

Armie pulls him close and buries his nose in Timmy's hair, the sharp crook of his jaw. Inhales him, and it feels like relief, like finally being able to breathe. _ At last. _

"Fuck," mumbles Armie, and it's only when he feels Timmy squeeze him closer that he realizes he said it out loud. "Need dinner?" asks Armie, quickly. 

Timmy shakes his head. "Ate at the bar."

"Burger?" 

"Yup." 

"Greasy?" 

_ "Very. _ Jealous?" Timmy grins. 

"You know I am." Armie spins him around and walks him towards the bedroom. "So what was that about you needing me, huh?" 

Timmy's hands land on top of Armie's on his hips. "You know I do. How many times did I tell you that this week?" 

In the bedroom, Armie slips his arms around Timmy's waist and kisses his neck. "Baby," he murmurs. 

"Hmm?" hums Timmy happily, leaning back into Armie's embrace. 

"Mm." Armie trails his lips down, to the crook of Timmy's neck, to the collar of his t-shirt, nudging it aside. He breathes Timmy in again, and nibbles gently at the tender pale skin. 

_ I missed you. I missed you so much. _

Slipping his hands under Timmy's t-shirt, he lays them flat on the soft skin of Timmy's stomach, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his pants. 

Timmy reaches up and back, caressing Armie's short hair, rubbing his scalp, his nape. He's hard already, tenting his grey joggers. 

Armie hurries Timmy out of his clothes, almost forgetting about his own in his haste. He wants to be pressed together with Timmy, suddenly missing his naked skin so fiercely it feels like an ache, like something expanding too fast in his chest. 

Timmy turns and stands on tiptoe to pull Armie's t-shirt off; wrestles with his jeans and boxers too. Armie can't help kissing him, distracting him from his task. 

On the bed, under the duvet, Armie cocoons them from the world. Pulling Timmy fully on top of himself, he squeezes him close and breathes him in, unable to stop touching his skin. 

Slowly, Armie feels himself start to relax, to fall into the intoxicatingly luxurious pleasure of _ he's here. He's here with me. _

Timmy pulls back and watches him, eyes golden-green in the soft yellow light of Armie's bedside lamp. 

"You…missed me?" he says at last, and it's only half a question. There's both vulnerability and confidence in his voice. 

Armie nods, quickly, and presses his nose to the base of Timmy's throat. 

"I missed you too." Timmy wriggles and buries his lips against Armie's ear. "Are you—okay?" 

Armie nods again, fighting the emotion that threatens to overwhelm him, to stopper his throat and sting behind his eyes. _ I missed you so much it hurt. _

Instead of speaking, he runs his hands down Timmy's sides; skims his buttocks, and rubs the backs of his thighs. He keeps his eyes closed. 

Timmy smiles into Armie's cheek, and wiggles his hips. He's hard against Armie's stomach. 

"Did you book the puppies in with your sitter Sunday?" he asks, kissing the corner of Armie's lips. 

Armie opens his eyes. He feels himself flush. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." 

Timmy's hand curves to Armie's cheek, thumb following the line of his cheekbone. "There's no pressure, Armie. I've been kind of—worried. That you feel like there is." 

"You don't need to be." Armie swallows. "I—actually I—wanted to ask you." He gets stuck, unsure of how to continue. 

"Tell me." There's curiosity in Timmy's eyes. 

"You—you said that you go with the flow. That you—uh—switch." Armie's mouth is dry. 

"Yeah." Timmy's nose scrunches with the tiniest of frowns. "I'm good with whatever." 

"I—wondered if you'd—consider—" 

Timmy looks confused, then very surprised. His cheeks flush pink. "Uh—_ fuck, _ Armie—are—are you serious? I didn't know if—for someone who was brought up the way you were—if you'd, uh—want that—" 

Armie holds to Timmy's waist. "I'm afraid of hurting you," he admits, in a murmur. "I want to know—what it's like. And I—want everything. With you. So." 

_ Everything, Timmy. I mean it. _

"You won't hurt me." Timmy says it firmly, with absolute conviction. "If you use lube and go slow, there's no way. I trust you." 

"I trust you too." The words are out, hurried but true. Armie takes a breath. "I—want to try." 

Timmy's eyes are bright, his cheeks hectic. His cock is even harder against Armie's belly. “Armie, you don’t have to—you won’t hurt me, I _ swear. _I’m—I don’t think you should—you shouldn’t say you want me to fuck you just because you’re worried you’ll hurt me or do something wrong. Or whatever.”

Quickly, Armie shakes his head. “No—no—” he takes a breath. “That’s not—” he tries to get his thoughts in order. “That’s not what I meant. It—came out wrong. Made it sound like that was my only reason. But—I want to try it with you _ anyway, _okay? And maybe it is weird to want that considering I was finding it difficult to watch porn, even, but…” 

“No no no it’s not weird, I just—” Timmy takes a breath. “Fuck, Armie, all of this would be easier to handle if I wasn’t _ so _turned on right now.”

Armie laughs, and Timmy giggles, burying his face in Armie’s neck. 

_ I love you, _thinks Armie, and his lips want to say it, want to form the words— 

_ Fuck. Jesus Christ. Fuck. _He sways on the edge of the precipice, trying desperately to save himself. 

“I love that you are,” Armie manages. It almost eases the pressure in his chest of the words that want to be said. “Means I’ve not turned you off with my bullshit yet.”

Timmy growls fond exasperation into Armie’s cheek. “Don’t be a dumbass.” 

Armie huffs a laugh, sliding his hands to the small of Timmy’s back, letting them settle on the tiny curve of his buttocks. “That’s nice.”

_ “You’re _ nice.” Timmy bites at Armie’s cheek, then his jaw. “So. Fucking. Nice.”

“I mean, that just sounds bad now.”

Timmy shakes his head fiercely. His eyes are closed. He rests his forehead against Armie’s temple, and sighs. “You’re _ really _nice.” He sounds kind of sad. 

“Okay…” says Armie, pulling back a little, trying to see him. “So are you.” 

“Imagine if I met you two years ago,” mumbles Timmy. He still has his eyes closed. “Instead of…you know.”

“When I was with Liz?” teases Armie gently. _ What is he thinking, here? He sounds so sad. Is he breaking this—us—up? Do we even count as something that needs breaking up? _“When you were nineteen?” 

Timmy nuzzles closer, and it feels like he’s hiding his face. “Shh. Just let me have this, man.” He gives a soft little huff of unhappy amusement. “Maybe when you came on one of your trips to New York. For work, I mean. We could’ve just met, in the street. Like, you could’ve run into me holding hot coffee, and apologized, and taken me for croissants.” 

“Why was it _ me _ running into _ you, _huh?” 

“You’re the clumsy one, remember?” Timmy giggles as he says it, and Armie squeezes his ass. 

“Oh. Uh-huh. Sure.” Armie turns his head, trying to get close enough to brush his lips to Timmy’s cheek. Timmy’s still hiding his expression. “So a real meet-cute, then?”

Timmy nods. “Yeah. And we'd spend way too long over our pastries, and then you'd ask me to show you round the city because you don’t ever get time to see it.”

“So I just blow off my meetings?” asks Armie, hugging Timmy close. 

Nodding, Timmy presses his lips to Armie’s jaw. “We spend the whole time together until you have to leave. And then you leave your fiancée for me and move to NYC and we’re happy together forever. The End.” 

Armie huffs a laugh. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels breathless, hardly able to keep his voice even. “Do we get puppies?”

“Yes. Eventually you wear me down, and we get puppies. And then you _ don’t _cheat on me and leave me alone with them.”

Armie’s arms tighten involuntarily around Timmy’s waist, but he replies lightly. “There’s a concept.”

_ “Right?” _ returns Timmy drily. “What a thought. _ Not _being a total fucking asshole.” 

Armie trails his fingertips slowly up Timmy’s spine. “Tell me we somehow manage to get Archie and Livs. Our exact Archie and Livs.”

“’Course we do. This is my damn fantasy world, and I say so.” 

_ Fantasy world. So—you’d want me to come live in NYC? Or only in another world, another time, another life? _

“Sounds good to me.” Armie can hardly force out the words, his heart is racing so fast. “That’s what happened, right? In the real timeline.”

“Hmm.” Timmy burrows closer into Armie’s neck. “Guess so. We’re in an alternate.”

There’s quiet for a moment. 

“Where’ve you gone, baby?” murmurs Armie, after a minute. “Come back here.” 

Timmy still has his eyes closed when he presses his forehead to Armie’s. He’s half-frowning, biting his lip. “’M’here.”

Gently, Armie kisses him. _ But you feel three thousand miles away already. _

Timmy’s breath catches and he presses closer into the kiss. 

They kiss like there’s no time left; like the world is ending. Timmy’s breath hitches, comes fast, and he clings to Armie’s shoulders like he could be ripped away at any second. 

“What do you want?” asks Armie, in a murmur. _ You’re so fucking hard. _

For a moment, Timmy presses his forehead to Armie’s temple; his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, eyes still closed. “Have you ever fucked someone’s thighs?” he asks. His voice is deep but quiet, words tumbling out. 

“No.” Armie feels like he always feels when Timmy hits him with something like this—chest tight, raw with emotion and arousal. “I—no.”

Timmy rolls away; grabs the lube out of the top drawer. His eyes are open again, kaleidoscopic golden-green, but there’s something closed in his expression, a private hurt that Armie can’t touch, can’t soothe. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Timmy mutters against Armie’s shoulder. His lips brush across the skin, and Armie can’t help but shiver. Timmy smiles, a self-deprecating little quirk of the lips. “I’m too far gone to actually deal with the prep. I’d be done before we started. So.” 

Armie’s breath catches in his throat; _ the knowledge of Timmy’s arousal, the way he articulates it— _

“How do you so consistently know how to fuck me up?” Armie groans, and there’s a flash of Timmy’s usual smile, his cheeky grin— 

Timmy moves, then, dipping down to take Armie’s cock in his mouth. Sucks him briefly, soft and wet, long strokes of tongue that feel so good Armie sinks even further into the mattress. “Because I love it,” he says, crawling back up Armie’s body. “Fucking you up is _ fun.” _

“Hmm.” Armie wraps Timmy in his arms and rolls him onto his side. Nuzzles under his jaw, and finds two familiar freckles to kiss. “So I’m fucking your thighs?” 

“I know it sounds kind of weird,” says Timmy, with a smile. “But it’s really good, I swear.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” 

Timmy leans in and bites at Armie’s collarbone. “Grab the lube.” 

Fumbling for it next to them on the bed, Armie steals a kiss. Timmy’s lips are candy-pink and addictive. “Here.” 

He watches in fascination as Timmy slicks his own thighs; gasps when Timmy strokes his cock, too, hand coated generously with lube. 

Turning, Timmy molds himself into Armie’s little spoon, jawline sharp as he cranes his head back to demand another kiss. Guides Armie’s cock between his thighs. 

Warm, slick heat surrounds him, and Armie gasps as Timmy’s hand lands on his hip, urging him forward, closer, asking him to thrust—

Awkwardly, Armie grabs the lube and pumps some into his palm; wraps his fingers around Timmy’s cock. Nibbles at the pale contour of his shoulder, the crook of his neck, drinking in the way his breath shakes and hitches at the long slow stroke of Armie’s hand. 

“That okay?” murmurs Armie, following freckles with his lips. 

“Mmm,” breathes Timmy blissfully. “Fuck me.” His fingers tighten on Armie’s hip. 

The words go straight to Armie’s cock; immediately, he needs _ more. _He tries a tentative thrust, and the sensation almost makes him groan. 

"Oh…" Timmy sighs. His head is turned so he can press his forehead to Armie's cheek. "I like it when…" the thought is lost in another sigh of pleasure. 

"You like it when…?" murmurs Armie on a smile, stroking him again. "Tell me, baby." 

"Fuck me through your hand," murmurs Timmy. His eyelids are heavy. 

_ He says what he wants. _ The thought is electric, lightning down Armie's spine. _ He wants this, with me. _

"Like _ this?" _ Armie rolls his hips, carrying the movement forward through Timmy's body, stroking Timmy's cock in counterpoint to the thrust. 

"Mmm—oh, fuck—" Timmy gasps. "More. _ Harder." _

And Armie can imagine it all too easily: fucking into his body, into tight heat, listening to Timmy's groans, his whispered _ harder, Armie, please, faster, fuck me— _

Timmy's fingers are still tight on Armie's hip; he sets a rhythm, urging Armie on, _ in, _ and Armie's cock slides perfectly in the snug channel of his thighs. When Armie looks, Timmy's crossed his feet, legs extended, thighs clenched. _ He's making it tighter for me, _Armie realizes, and the thought is so much to deal with, almost overwhelming—

"Fuck," breathes Armie, into the crook of Timmy's neck. He bites down, only softly, on tender pale skin. "Fuck…"

"Harder," moans Timmy. "Bite, I mean—harder." 

_ A lovebite? _ thinks Armie. _ And I do, I do love you Timmy, but I can't say it, because I'm a coward, and I'm afraid to lose you— _

_ A lovebite, like making out at school, and imagine if we'd met at school— _

_ Hey, here's another meet-cute for you baby, I fell in love with you in English class and we stayed together, we never broke up when we went to college, we just stayed—stayed in love—made a life, a family, together— _

Timmy's fingernails are a precious, biting arc of pain on Armie's hip, recalling him to now, to here, to the pleasure he's lost in. 

With utmost care, Armie deals out a sweet thread of pain too, teeth and suction and soothing tongue, nipping again at the same spot when Timmy moans his name like its only meaning is_ please— _

"I'm marking you, baby," murmurs Armie, and it's half a warning—_ tell me to stop, Timmy, I'll stop if you want me to _—and half something he says because to hear the words out loud answers a deeper, darker ache of pleasure. 

"Oh, fuck," whispers Timmy, and his body shudders with it. "Do it again. Please, Armie. Let them see. Let people see I'm—I'm yours." 

_ Holy fuck. _ Armie presses his eyes shut for a second, trying to gather his control. There's tension coiling through him and he can't let himself think about it or he'll be altogether lost. 

He focuses on another place in the crook of Timmy's neck, biting at a favourite freckle, and he doesn't notice that he's driving faster between Timmy's thighs, stroking Timmy faster, harder— 

"Armie, Armie, I'm gonna—fuck, that's—" Timmy sounds breathless, his voice a deep wreck of a whisper. "Are you close? I'm—" 

A deep, overwhelming tug of arousal in Armie's belly at Timmy's words; a raw ache of unspoken love in his chest—his thighs shaking as he thrusts, again and again—two red-blooming marks on Timmy's tender skin—

"Timmy…" the word contains everything he's too afraid to say. "Come for me." It feels like pleading for a blessing, but he manages to make it sound almost like an order. 

Timmy shakes, then, and bites off a cry; presses his forehead hard to Armie's cheek. Armie watches as he starts to come—_ obedient, so obedient, baby, so proud of you _ —and strokes him through it but he can't hold back, can't keep control, everything feels too good and he lets go, lets the tension break at last, snap and unwind, and _ I'm coming between his thighs, he's going to look like my come's running out of him and down his legs— _

"Fuck," murmurs Armie at last. He presses a kiss to Timmy's jaw, to the corner of his open, panting pink lips. "Baby…I lost it. I'm sorry." 

Timmy growls slightly. "Did you _ actually _just apologize to me? Fuck, Armie. Shut up." He giggles and cranes back to steal a badly-aligned kiss. "I told you, right? Really good." 

"Really fucking good." Armie moves to brush his lips across the places he'd marked on Timmy's neck. The bruises are like petals on his pale skin, red turning to purple. 

"Wait here," murmurs Armie. He extracts himself and walks on shaky legs to the bathroom; cleans himself up, then washes out the towel under hot water. Takes it and some salve back with him to the bedroom. 

He passes Timmy the towel to wipe himself down. Softly kisses his bruises again, and smoothes salve across them, rubbing it in with the pad of his thumb. 

"Don't get rid of them." Timmy's voice is deep and quiet. "I meant it. I want everyone to know I'm yours." 

Armie's breath catches. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Timmy's shoulder. "There's no getting rid of them now." 

Timmy goes to brush his teeth; yawning, Armie leans down to dig his phone out of his pants pocket. 

There are notifications from Tyler. Opening their conversation, Armie reads back. 

Armie: **Didn't expect a lecture on romance **

Tyler: **Don't want to see you make a dumb mistake you regret**

Armie: **We've only known each other a few weeks **

Tyler: **Have you told him you love him yet? **

Tyler: **Because you clearly do **

Tyler: **Armie…don't ignore me **

Tyler: **Oh wait your man probably came out of the bar **😛 

Tyler: **Don't leave it to chance, Armie. Be brave. Tell him how you feel. If you get a no then…at least you tried **

Tyler: **When I fell for Jacs I remember thinking…if I don't try I'll never forgive myself. **

Tyler: **Love you brother **

"Booty call?" jokes Timmy, flopping onto the bed behind Armie and wrapping his arms around his waist. "Too late. I got to you first." 

Armie huffs a laugh and locks his phone. Lifts Timmy's hand to his lips. Kisses his palm, then the pad of his thumb. His knuckles, one by one. "Asshole." 

"Not this time. Tomorrow." 

Armie gives him a look, then tries to pull away. 

"Mine," glowers Timmy, clinging on. 

"Bathroom," grins Armie. 

_ "Mine." _ Timmy pouts as Armie succeeds in escaping. 

Climbing back into bed after using the bathroom, Armie curls around Timmy and pulls him in close. "There. Yours." 

"'Kay," mumbles Timmy, through a yawn. "Good. At _ last. _Jesus." 

Armie can't help smiling.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is healthy and safe. x

For the first few seconds after waking, Armie thinks it’s a work day. And then he opens his eyes, and there are wild brown curls on the pillow next to him—

_ Timmy. Timmy’s here.  _ There’s a quick swoop of happiness in his chest. 

They’re still curled together, Armie’s hand resting lightly on Timmy’s hipbone. Their cocoon is warm, and luxurious, and safe. 

_ Better take the puppies out.  _ Fighting the urge to groan, Armie climbs as gently as possible out of bed. Timmy stirs a little, makes a small noise of protest, but doesn’t wake. Armie closes the bedroom door carefully behind himself. 

Archie whines slightly in his crate when he sees Armie.

“I know, boy, I know,” murmurs Armie. “Don’t worry. We’re going out right now.”

Livs  _ bounces  _ out of her crate, and she and Archie tumble together in a joyful tangle of limbs and ears and tails—

“Chill, the both of you,” smiles Armie. “Otherwise one or both of you is gonna pee everywhere—” he makes them sit for their harnesses, and escorts them downstairs. 

On the grass outside his building, Armie lets the puppies do their business while he texts Tyler back. 

Armie:  **Thanks ty. I wouldn’t have known how to react to that at that age **

Armie:  **Could easily scare him off **

Back in the apartment, he feeds the puppies a small breakfast (“you can have some more in a while,”) and brews coffee. 

Deciding to let the puppies carry on playing with the tug toy they’re wrestling over while he takes coffee to Timmy, he slips out of the room carrying two steaming mugs. 

Depositing Timmy’s mug of coffee on the nightstand, Armie crosses to his own side of the bed and climbs back in, settling the duvet over himself again. It’s too tempting to curl around Timmy again, to absorb his warmth and slide a hand up his gloriously naked torso—

“You’re dressed,” protests Timmy, sleepily.

“Puppies.” 

“Mmff. Cockblockers.”

Armie huffs a laugh, pressing the sound into the nape of Timmy’s neck. “Made you coffee. It’s on the nightstand.”

“Mmmm. Knew I liked you for a reason.” 

Armie bites at a freckle, then kisses it. “’S’that the only reason?”

“Yup.” Timmy interlaces their fingers, and draws Armie’s hand to the center of his chest. “Do I still have my bruises?” he cranes his neck to let Armie see. 

“You do.” Armie brushes his lips across them in the lightest of kisses. “They’ll show on stage.” 

“I could put makeup on them.” Timmy’s voice is hazy, tired and happy. “Not going to though.”

“No?” Armie swipes his thumb gently across Timmy’s chest. 

“No.” Timmy sounds like he’s smiling. “They’re pretty.”

“Hmm.”  _ You’re pretty.  _ Armie’s chest tugs with affection and arousal.  _ He wants everyone to see. A whole audience, all the staff at the theater. To know that he’s mine.  _

“Are the puppies okay?” 

“All good. Had half a breakfast. Ripping Archie’s tug toy apart.”

“Half a breakfast?”

“It’s still early.”

Timmy groans. “I have to go in early today. Did I tell you?” 

“I feel like I heard Joel saying something…” 

Nodding, Timmy sighs. “Yeah. They’re doing their break-down runthrough between the shows today so I need to rehearse my understudy earlier than normal.”

“It’s weird having an understudy when you only have a week of the show left.”

There’s a broken half-beat where Timmy doesn’t respond, and Armie’s heart sinks. 

“Yeah,” Timmy says, at last. His voice is flat. “But if I broke my leg on Tuesday, he’d still have to do the rest of the week. And you’re always telling me to break my leg.” It sounds like he’s trying to find his usual lighthearted tone.

“Break  _ a  _ leg, Tim. Not  _ your  _ leg.”

“Oh, wait, break someone  _ else’s  _ leg?” 

“Sure.” Armie kisses Timmy’s shoulderblade. “Whoever annoys you.” 

“Hmm.” Timmy huffs amusement. “’Time is it?”

“Just after seven.” 

Timmy groans reluctantly. “Don’t want to go to work. I just  _ got  _ here, and you’re all warm, and you  _ could  _ be very naked, if you tried—”

Grinning, Armie strokes Timmy’s belly. “Come shower with me, when you’ve had your coffee.” 

Timmy nods enthusiastically against the pillow. “You good with the puppies today? I checked, but Saoirse’s got some work thing so she can’t come walk them.”

Kissing Timmy’s neck in a silent  _ thank you,  _ Armie half-shakes his head. “No, I’m good. And actually Lena texted the other day to say she’s looking to make some extra cash at the moment. I figured I might check if she’s up for walking them this afternoon. Then I can get a run and a workout, maybe.”

_ “Pictures.” _

Armie snorts. “Only if you eat lunch.”

“Fine. I’ll send you lunch selfies, you send me workout pics. And puppies.”

“Deal.” Armie burrows his lips behind Timmy’s ear and kisses. “You gonna drink your coffee? It’s getting cold.” He looks over at the door. “Might just go check what the puppies are chewing on.”

Timmy laughs softly. “You’re funny.” Slowly, he groans and starts to sit up. “I’ll just drink the, like, top two inches of my coffee, then you should let them in here.”

“Mm.” Armie sits up, gulps some of his own coffee, and climbs out of bed again. He misses Timmy’s warmth, his touch, immediately. “Sure?”

“Sure.” Timmy’s eyes crinkle over the rim of his mug. “Good coffee.”

_ I love you.  _ Armie crushes the words down and heads for the door. 

Released towards the bedroom, the puppies scramble so fast that Armie can’t keep up. He follows the scrabbling of their claws along the corridor, and grins as he hears Timmy’s laughing protestations, clearly trying to fend off face-licks and tiggerish bouncing. 

“I didn’t think this through,” yells Timmy. “I’m naked and Livs is trying to lick my back—”

Armie snorts a laugh, arriving in the bedroom to find Timmy hiding under the duvet, giggling and shrieking everytime the puppies try to find a way to get in. 

“Arch, quit licking his  _ hair—” _ Armie joins them on the bed, and tries to lessen the chaos. “Okay, puppies, have a treat from my gross treat pocket—”

“Ugh, the treat pockets,” grumbles Timmy, from under the duvet. “My jeans will never be the fucking same again.” 

Laughing, Armie bribes the puppies to lie down. They're too excitable to settle, lunging at one another, and having to be bribed again when Timmy emerges from the duvet. 

"Oh my god. These two." 

Armie keeps the puppies in place while Timmy drinks his coffee. "So Joel and—Amy, was it?—are your buddies?" he asks.  _ Need to check they're in the party group Saoirse set up.  _

Timmy smiles. "Yeah. They're cool. Theater's kind of...I mean, there's a lot of just—being ready to do stuff but with loads of waiting around? So like...I chat to the crew a lot." He huffs a laugh. "They’re all super kind about me being basically naked in front of them for hours every day." 

Armie grins. "Yeah, God. The hardship they live through." He laughs when Timmy smacks him on the arm with the back of his hand. 

"You don't seem to mind." 

Kissing Timmy's shoulder, Armie picks up his own coffee and takes a gulp, warning Livvy back down onto the bed when it seems like she wants to come investigate. 

"She's so bad with hot drinks. She jumped up at my coffee the other day." 

"Jesus, Livs. You're an idiot." Armie caresses her head, then strokes Archie's ear, so he doesn't feel left out. Archie pats at Armie's hand with his paw, testing the potential to initiate a play-fight. "No, boy. We're just chilling." Armie takes another gulp of coffee. 

Timmy puts his empty mug on the nightstand and leans his head on Armie's shoulder. "I  _ really  _ want to take a bath with you right now." 

"It's way too small for the both of us." Armie kisses the irrepressible brown curls. "If you want to take a bath though, you should use the tub. I can come hang out with you." 

Timmy grumbles and bites at Armie's shoulder. "You should get a bigger tub." 

Huffing a laugh, Armie speaks without thinking. "Okay. I'll just get that put in in the next couple weeks." 

He feels Timmy freeze for a moment, then take a quick breath. Let it out again. 

"Hmmph. Shower it is, then." 

"Sorry, baby." Armie slips his arm around Timmy's waist, rubbing the base of his spine on the way.  _ Sorry I mentioned how little time we have left. I guess it's just always in the back of my mind.  _

"You should be. Only providing a huge fancy rain shower for my use." 

"If I give you a massage in that shower, will you forgive me?" 

"Probably. Maybe. Let's try it and see, shall we?" there's a grin in Timmy's voice. 

"No guarantees, huh? C'mon, you two." He guides the puppies back into the kitchen, and throws around a few of their toys to get them playing. Shuts the door behind himself and heads for the bathroom, where he can hear the shower running already. 

The sight of a naked Timmy—turning under the spray, hair slicked down long and straight on his neck—makes Armie pause, stealing his breath for a moment. Quickly he undresses and opens the shower door, smiling as Timmy turns to him, eyes closed against the water running down his face. 

Armie puts his hand on Timmy's cheek, and pulls him in for a soft kiss. "Hey." 

Timmy wraps his arms around Armie's neck, pulling him under the spray. They exchange slow, closed-mouth kisses back and forth, and Armie's chest  _ aches. _

"Here." Armie slides his hands to Timmy's hipbones and gently turns him around. "Let me." 

Pillowing his head on his arms against the shower wall, Timmy groans as Armie starts to massage his shoulders. 

It's calm, and quiet, and companionable; Armie massages Timmy's neck and back, working his thumbs firmly down either side of his spine, rubbing a spot in the small of Timmy's back that makes him groan deeply again, and mumble, "yes—there—" 

Armie's half-hard, because of course he is; he's here with Timmy, in a steamy-hot shower, getting to put his hands where he likes, and Timmy's making deep, appreciative noises. But there's no urgency to take things further; he knows Timmy will need him tonight, and he wants to figure out the best way to make it good for him. 

After a while, Armie trails his fingers across Timmy's buttocks, making him catch his breath. 

"You're carrying a  _ lot _ of tension in your ass, Tim." 

Timmy snorts a giggle, but doesn't raise his head from his arms. He pushes back against Armie's touch. "Oh yeah? So what you gonna do about it?" 

Armie massages Timmy's ass, slowly and firmly, digging his thumbs pretty hard into the flesh. After a while Timmy groans again, and shifts his head on his arms. 

"I know you were joking before," mumbles Timmy. "But that actually feels so fucking good. Are you like, trained at this?" 

"I dated a masseuse for a couple months in college," Armie laughs. "Doesn't really count as training, though. Also, 'dated' is kind of a loose description." 

"Huh." Timmy sighs as Armie returns to working on his lower back. "Set me down as jealous  _ and _ grateful." 

Armie leans in and bends to kiss Timmy's back, between the shoulderblades. "Jealous, huh?" 

"I'd be jealous of anyone getting to fuck you, anytime. Even if I  _ was  _ like, what? Twelve, at the time. Or whatever." 

Armie groans and rests his head on Timmy's shoulder. "Baby, don't say that." 

Timmy laughs, a soft sound under the regular patter of the shower. "Does it bother you?" he asks, curiously. 

Armie thinks about it.  _ How can I tell the truth without saying too much and freaking him out? _ "I guess I—it's kind of odd that we're in different life stages? Maybe?" he says, at last.  _ Fuck, that still implies I want way too much.  _ "I—I mean, you're twenty-one. You're going to have a lot of life, fuck a lot of people, travel, get rich and famous in Hollywood…" he kisses a freckle. "So. But— _ inherently,  _ no, it doesn't bother me." He runs his hands slowly up Timmy's sides. "You? You mind dating someone so old?" 

"You're  _ not old,"  _ grumbles Timmy, tapping Armie on the shin with one foot. "Shut up with that. And I'm not gonna 'get rich and famous in Hollywood'." 

"Well. We'll see." 

"Yeah. Well." Timmy lets himself melt back into Armie's touch, into the press of thumbs up his spine. After a minute he speaks again, words speeding up, tumbling over one another to be free. "I—guess it doesn't feel to me like we're at  _ super  _ different life stages, you know? I mean—I know people often want to have kids or whatever in their thirties and I don't know if you do but—you, like, had the perfect chance to do that with your ex and you didn't want to just go on with it even though you knew it wasn't right, you chose to make a bunch of changes instead, and that's super courageous so...I feel like you  _ will  _ change your job and try something that makes you happy—and buy that motorbike also, don't think I've forgotten about the concept of you in leathers—so it's sort of almost like we're in similar life stages? I guess? I don't know." 

Armie blinks, hands splayed unmoving across Timmy's back. "Huh. Yeah, I—I guess." 

"That's not to like, dismiss the work you've done or anything," adds Timmy, anxious to clarify. "I just mean…" 

"I know." Armie rubs the base of Timmy's spine, then slides his hands around to his stomach, pulling him in so their bodies are flush. He knows Timmy must be able to feel that he's hard, but right now he just wants him  _ close.  _ He presses kisses to Timmy's shoulder, to the crook of his neck, and behind his ear.  _ I love you.  _

"You want me to massage you too?" asks Timmy. His voice is a gentle, deep murmur. 

Armie shakes his head, lips brushing against Timmy's neck. "Going to make you breakfast before you leave." 

"You always look after me so well." 

"I always want to, baby." 

*

Armie makes pancakes while Timmy dries and styles his hair. When he emerges from the bedroom he looks perfect, in grey jeans and a simple white t-shirt. 

Armie's gaze fastens at once on the bruises peeking out above the collar of the t-shirt. When Timmy plasters himself to his side, Armie leans down and kisses the bruises, pushing the t-shirt aside with his lips. 

"Like them?" murmurs Timmy. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches Armie obliquely.

"Beautiful." It's all Armie can say. He keeps his arm around Timmy's waist as he serves the pancakes. 

Timmy digs his Nutella out of the cupboard, as well as syrup for Armie. 

They eat at the counter, fending off the puppies, kicking a ball for them to keep them busy. 

When Timmy leaves, he makes Armie promise to text him.

Before Timmy can even have left the elevator, Armie texts. 

Armie:  **Miss you.**

Timmy:  **cheesy** 😛 

Timmy:  **(i miss you too) **

Armie:  **Livs did a little whine.**

Timmy: 😭  **give her cuddles from me**

Armie: ** [image]**

Timmy:  **thank you** 😭😭 

*

Lena picks up the puppies for their walk and play session around lunchtime. Armie gets onto his workout right away, pushing himself through a punishing round of abs exercises, along with some work on his arms. 

He texts Timmy on his way to take another quick shower. 

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Happy? **

Timmy:  **OMG**

Timmy:  **why do u torture me like this **

Timmy:  **(don’t stop)**

Timmy:  **[image]**

Armie:  **Glad you’re eating lunch but I’m jealous of your tacos tbh **

Timmy:  **did u just have a salad again? **

Armie:  **Haven’t eaten yet. Wanted to make the most of the time while the puppies are out **

Timmy:  **i feel like u can stop just eating salad now **

Timmy:  **you were never in bad shape like u thought but now it’s been a few weeks i feel like the salad diet can stop **

Armie:  **Hmm I think it should carry on for a while **

Timmy:  **what if i worship ur perfect abs??? cos they ARE perfect **

Armie:  **Stop **

Timmy:  **what if i just...don’t?????** 😜 

Armie:  **You’re too nice to me**

Timmy:  **TOO NICE **

Timmy:  **would you prefer me to be an asshole**

Armie sighs and rolls his eyes, grinning to himself. 

Armie:  **Gonna get in the shower**

Timmy:  **we could FaceTime** 😜 

Armie:  **And that would help you be a good boy until you come home, would it? Help you stay in control on stage, while you show off my marks?**

Timmy:  **fml **

Timmy:  **you torture me**

Armie:  **I want you.**

Timmy:  **you give me what i need**

Armie:  **I hope so.**

*

Nick:  **Dude now both Elizabeth and your mom are asking me WTF your deal is **

Nick:  **Can you please call one or both of them**

Nick:  **Preferably both**

Armie sighs, groans in frustration, and puts his phone down on the countertop. 

Armie:  **Sorry man. **

Armie:  **I’m not going to call my mom though. Can’t you just block her number?**

Nick:  **So you’ll call Elizabeth? **

Armie stares reluctantly at his phone, biting his lip.  _ But Jane did say I need to be clearer about my communication. My boundaries.  _

Armie:  **Yeah. Ok. **

Nick:  **When?**

Armie:  **I don’t know exactly. **

On an impulse, he adds:

Armie:  **Do you know what she wants? We won’t be getting back together. **

Nick:  **Dude you need to talk to your mom. I think she’s promised Elizabeth it’s just a matter of time **

Armie:  **Fuck’s sake. Sorry you’re caught in the middle.**

Nick: 🤷🤷🤷🤷🤷

*

Tyler:  **Just because you were a dumbass at 21 don’t assume he is** 🤣

Armie:  **Nick texted to say Liz has been asking him about me again. Has she been asking you too? **

Tyler:  **I’ve been telling her I don’t know what’s happening for a while**

Armie:  **I’m sorry. I’ll call her this week. **

Tyler:  **no problem man **

Tyler:  **If you’re not ready don’t worry about it**

Tyler:  **Sure Nick can survive a few questions...he’s a big boy now **

Armie:  **Ha. Thanks Ty**

*

Armie's still up, just shutting the puppies in their crates after a last trip outside, when Timmy arrives home. Timmy's appearance in the apartment sends them frantic, though, and they have to be let out to greet him madly. By the time they're shut away again, Armie's not expecting to be backed up against the kitchen counter and kissed with desperate, focused fervor. 

"Mmm," hums Armie appreciatively. His hand cups Timmy's jaw. "Hey, you." 

"Come to bed," murmurs Timmy, barely pulling out of the kiss. His hands are on Armie's side, his neck. Clutching him close. 

Something's different, tonight; Timmy feels less hectic, less in need of care, of direction. He sweeps Armie along with him instead, like he's still on stage—bright, shining, undeniable. 

_ I'd go anywhere with you. Anywhere you asked.  _

_ You followed a guy here. And then you met a guy who'd follow you anywhere.  _

_ Does it always go by turns? There are people, I guess, whose timing is exactly right. Who meet the right person, the one, and their feelings are reciprocated easily, without strife or fear— _

Timmy's hands are on Armie's hips, pulling him to the bedroom, lips at his jaw, his neck, his chest—

“Fuck, I missed you.” Timmy’s hands slip under Armie’s t-shirt; pull it up and away without a moment’s hesitation. Seeking a kiss, Timmy mumbles the words  _ all day, all fucking day,  _ into Armie’s mouth as he works his belt loose. 

Naked, Armie reciprocates as quickly as possible, throwing Timmy’s clothes away, onto the floor. He finds himself on the bed with a heavy armful of  _ Timmy— _

They kiss softly until Timmy licks at the seam of Armie’s lips, asking to be let in. Until Timmy rolls on top of him, heavy and warm and demanding. 

Armie’s hard already, hands framing Timmy’s hips, pulling him down and into his own body.  _ Closer, closer, never close enough.  _

“Do you trust me?” asks Timmy, at last. He’s breathless, and his cock presses hard into Armie’s stomach. 

“Of course,” Armie says, without hesitation. “’Course I do.” 

“Can I show you something I’ve wanted to do all—” Timmy smiles. “Well, all day, but kind of…the whole time we’ve been doing this.” 

_ Doing this. But what is this? What are we doing, Timmy?  _

Armie swallows. “What is it?” 

Brushing their lips together, Timmy hesitates. “I feel like it might freak you out if I tell you. And that makes it sound really bad, but— _ would  _ you trust me? Just—see if you like the feeling? If you…I mean, I’d stop immediately if you weren’t cool with it—”

Armie rests his head back on the mattress. His heart skips a beat, tripping over itself. "Okay," he says, simply. 

The expression in Timmy's green-gold eyes is worth any of the nervousness that Armie might feel knotting in his chest.  _ He's surprised,  _ he realizes.  _ Turned on. Nervous. He's nervous, too.  _

Armie feels Timmy's hand curve to his cheek, his jaw. Then the pad of Timmy's thumb traces Armie's lips, making him shiver with sensitivity. 

Timmy kisses him, slowly, and Armie just breathes. Breathes him in. 

"Sure?" asks Timmy. His eyes are wide, as if he can't quite believe Armie's answer. 

"I trust you." Armie says, and the simple truth of it strikes him somewhere deep in his chest.  _ Implicitly. I do.  _

"Okay." Timmy's smile is wide and beautiful. "Fuck."

Armie huffs a laugh. "You good?" 

"Yeah, I just…" Timmy half-shrugs. "I love that. I love that you just…said yes." 

_ You make it easy.  _ Armie almost grimaces as he thinks about Timmy calling him a cheeseball if he said the words out loud. 

"What?" asks Timmy, with a grin. "What did you just think?" 

Armie laughs and puts his hand over his face. "Ugh...you're going to call me cheesy." 

"Tell me. Tell me tell me tell me." Timmy nuzzles Armie's cheek. 

Groaning, Armie shrugs. "Just…you're easy to say yes to." 

Timmy's grin spreads slowly, until he almost  _ glows  _ with it. "Good. Perfect. Always just say yes to me." 

"Easy as that, huh?" 

"Easy as that." Timmy kisses Armie's chin. "Also, you're cheesy. Now…come here." 

"Here?" 

"Come lie on your front." Timmy pushes up and away, grabbing a pillow. Places it in the center of the bed. "Here." 

Armie gives him a curious look, but obeys. He feels exposed, shy, but Timmy's hand is a gently guiding reassurance in the center of his lower back. 

Timmy's hand slides down, gently caressing Armie's asscheeks, following their curves with an almost reverent touch. 

"Give me your hand," Timmy murmurs. He keeps hold of it as he moves out of Armie's line of sight. His weight settles between Armie's legs, limbs brushing the tender skin of Armie's inner thighs. 

_ What are you doing?  _ Armie wants to ask, but he doesn't want to sound scared, like he's regretting  _ I trust you— _

His heart pounds, blood rushing loud in his ears. 

Timmy's right hand caresses the back of Armie's thigh; his left tangles their fingers together. The soft brush of his lips at the base of Armie's spine is a surprise. 

_ He must be kneeling between my legs. _

Timmy's right hand settles on Armie's hip, the thumb pressed firmly into the flesh of his asscheek, parting him slightly, and if Armie felt exposed before—

_ Oh fuck. Oh, fuck, is he really— _

It's only something he's seen in one of the videos Timmy had sent him. He'd been surprised by the pleasure it seemed to give, by the expression on the guy's face as his partner licked him, by the noises he'd made. 

Timmy's kisses move lower, slowly, and Armie realizes  _ he's giving me time to say no— _

Armie's heart is beating so hard he worries it might be audible to Timmy. He could almost shiver with the intensity of the sensations Timmy's soft kisses are drawing out. 

Timmy squeezes his hand, and Armie squeezes back. 

_ Fuck.  _ Disbelief and pleasure and need thrill through him as Timmy brushes his lips across his core— 

_ This is happening. Oh, fuck.  _

_ This is objectively an extremely gay thing to do.  _

_ Shut the fuck up, brain. Just—shut the fuck up, for once in your fucking life.  _

_ Timmy wanted to do this for me. He wanted to give me this. And it feels— _

_ It feels—  _

Timmy's weight shifts slightly behind him, as if he's settling; and then his kisses are a little firmer and more assured. He licks, too, and the shock of sensation it brings has Armie gasping silently into the pillow. 

"Is that okay?" Timmy's voice is warm and deep and full of satisfaction. 

_ He loves this,  _ Armie realizes.  _ Doing something to just—make me feel good.  _ The thought is strange, and makes his chest ache. 

_ Don't let him down. Make sure he knows how amazing this is.  _

Even though shyness pulls at him, Armie manages to mumble, "fuck. I can't—yes. Fuck. So good."  _ Thank you,  _ he wants to add. 

_ I love you.  _

"Mmm." Timmy hums happiness into the next swipe of his tongue, and Armie shivers. He  _ feels _ Timmy smile. 

"Keep telling me," murmurs Timmy, before he settles to a rhythm of licks and kisses that has Armie taking long, slow, controlled breaths. 

Time seems to disappear into waves of sensation, building steadily, and it's only when Timmy works his hand between Armie's body and the pillow, wraps his fingers around Armie's cock, that he realizes he's so hard he could come quickly if Timmy just kept touching him like  _ that— _

_ "Fuck," _ whispers Armie. "Tim—baby, that's—too much—" 

Timmy pulls his hand away; rubs the base of Armie's spine instead. "I can make you come like this," he murmurs. "It feels  _ good.  _ I swear." 

Armie half-laughs. "Yeah, fuck, I've—I have zero doubt of that, I just—" he groans, and squeezes his eyes closed. "Come here?" There's something in his mind, his heart, that has to be said.  _ Now. It has to be now.  _ He's certain, suddenly. 

Timmy squeezes his hand. "Okay. Okay, sweetheart. One minute, alright?" and then his weight shifts on the bed and Armie turns his head to watch Timmy's wide-stanced, awkward walk to the bathroom because  _ he's hard, he loves doing this  _ and he has to resist the urge to roll his hips and seek friction from the pillow because  _ fuck, that's hot.  _

When Timmy returns he tastes of mouthwash, and he plasters himself along Armie's side, limbs protective, hard cock pressing against Armie's hip. They kiss, long and slow, and then the words fight their way from Armie lips. 

"Fuck me." He catches his breath once they're said. 

Timmy's eyes are wide and bright and surprised. "Uh—Armie—" 

Armie shakes his head. "No, I—I mean it. Really. I'm sure. Now." 

Timmy's fingers trace the line of Armie's cheekbone. "Babe—" 

Armie's chest aches at the endearment. "I want you to."  _ I want this now, tonight. Not tomorrow; now. Anytime we can before you leave—I want you inside me. Make me yours, Timmy. Fuck me. Own me.  _

Timmy looks like he's wondering whether to check again, whether to argue or delay—

"Please," whispers Armie, and there's a molten gold spark of need in Timmy's eyes. 

"Grab the lube?" he murmurs, kissing Armie's shoulder. 

Armie kneels and stretches over to the nightstand, and Timmy sits up. Takes the lube when Armie passes it to him. 

"Stay like this." He puts a steady hand on Armie's thigh, holding him still on hands and knees. Settles, cross-legged, by Armie's hip. "Gonna get you ready. Anytime you want, I'll stop. I mean it." He kisses Armie's bottom rib; his hipbone. "Just say." 

Armie nods, then lets his head hang between his shoulders. Takes a breath, and says what he needs. "Could you—talk to me? Just—talk to me." 

"'Course." Timmy's finger is slick between Armie's cheeks, and his touch is nearly as electric as the swipe of his tongue had been and: 

_ am I open for him already?  _

And:

_ oh fuck, why does that thought turn me on so much?  _

As he circles Armie's hole Timmy wraps the fingers of his left hand around Armie's cock and strokes, once. "That's perfect, sweetheart. Perfect. You feel ready for my finger, okay? I'm gonna be gentle but I'm not going to stop, I'll keep going unless you tell me otherwise." 

Armie gasps and nods. 

"Okay." Timmy takes a breath and starts to press his finger inside, a long slow breach that feels incredibly strange to Armie. "You ever done this before? To yourself, maybe?" 

Armie shakes his head this time. "No. No, never." 

Timmy kisses his side. "I hope you like it. I'd love to watch you touch yourself like this—those long fingers…" he takes a breath that's almost a groan. "You'd look perfect." 

"Oh, fuck," Armie mumbles. The feeling of Timmy touching him so intimately, the meaning of his words—everything has become a jumbled mess of arousal, leaving him helpless, desperate, craving  _ more _ even as he feels himself on the verge of being overwhelmed. 

"Okay?" asks Timmy gently, and he kisses Armie's hip at the same time as he moves his finger, twists it a little, and there's a strange  _ pressure  _ that makes Armie catch his breath—

"Is—that—" 

"Hopefully." Timmy sounds like he's smiling. "I'll try to make you feel awesome, Armie. But it's your first time, and I don't know your body super well yet—" he strokes Armie's cock again, his fingers a loose, teasing circle. "It's like every first time. It'll probably be better the  _ second _ time." 

Armie huffs a little laugh at that. 

_ He's twenty-one, and telling me about first times. _

_ He has every right.  _

He could melt into Timmy's hands, into his touch, his control. "Can we—can you, yet—" 

"One more finger, okay? You're doing so fucking good." 

Armie nods. The sensation of Timmy's finger withdrawing carefully from his body is odd too, and he takes a long, steadying breath. 

Two fingers at his entrance feel large, suddenly, maybe unmanageable—and Armie takes a sharp breath. 

"Hey, sweetheart. Hey." Timmy caresses Armie's cheek, his hair. "I know it's difficult, but try to relax. It'll feel so good soon, okay? So soon. Just—deep breaths." 

The deep breaths help, actually, and Armie surrenders to the oddness of the sensation, to the gentle, insistent movement inside, until Timmy strokes his side and kisses his hip and murmurs, "there, Armie,  _ there—"  _

Armie takes another breath, and lets it out, long and slow. 

"All good?" murmurs Timmy, and Armie can hardly bear the  _ kindness  _ in his voice. 

Armie nods. His movements feel slow, surreal. "All good," he echoes, and his heart thuds in his chest.  _ I'm going to let another man be inside me. I have. I am.  _

_ Timmy. Timmy inside me.  _

He swallows. "All good," he says again, and cants his hips slightly, a silent plea for  _ more, please take more of me, Tim, please push me on. Help me take the leap. Gentle me over this edge I'm scared to face.  _

“Sure?” 

_ “Timmy—” _

Timmy giggles, and the sound makes Armie laugh too. For a minute he just wheezes with amusement while Timmy kisses his side and laughs against his hip. 

“Fuck,” gasps Armie at last. “Why am I  _ laughing  _ when you’re—”

Timmy’s fingers make a quick little movement that has Armie breathing out a groan instead.

“Hmm?” asks Timmy, and there’s a gently teasing note of triumph in his voice.

“Holy shit.”

“Mmm. Good.” Timmy does it again, and then again, and Armie just focuses on breathing because it feels  _ good,  _ it feels  _ really good,  _ and this time when Timmy starts to move his fingers gently in and out any sense of oddness is gone and the only thing he feels is  _ more, please, more.  _

“How do you feel?” 

“More.” The word is said before Armie has time to think, and when his brain catches up he realizes he sounds  _ desperate,  _ needy. Exactly the way he likes to make Timmy sound. His cock throbs. 

_ If I was in control here, I’d make him say please.  _

“Please,” says Armie, quietly. 

Timmy kisses a sigh into Armie’s ribs. “Fuck,” he murmurs against Armie’s skin. “Can I be inside you?” 

_ “Please,”  _ whispers Armie, because it’s the only thing he wants. His brain is quiet, blank. All he wants is  _ Timmy. Timmy, Timmy, Timmy.  _

“’Kay. Gonna pull out.” He does so, slowly. His other hand smoothes gently at the base of Armie’s back, and Armie lets the touch absorb him, ground him. 

Timmy moves on the bed, reaching into the drawer again and finding condoms, tearing at the wrapper with his teeth. He dips down and kisses Armie on the cheek—quick, bold, sweet. “You want to stay like this?” he asks, skimming a hand across Armie’s shoulderblade, his spine. “Not gonna lie, it’s kind of easiest for a first time, even if it means I can’t see your face.” 

Armie nods. He feels almost high on it—the ability to just let Timmy take control. 

Kissing Armie’s shoulder, then his ear, Timmy grins. “It makes me  _ so happy  _ you want this.”

_ He just says it. Says what he’s thinking and feeling.  _ The thought is vertiginous, and it takes Armie by surprise all over again. 

“Thank you,” Armie says, and he knows it sounds stiff and stupid but what he means is  _ thank you for seeing me, for seeing what I want. Thank you for making me feel safe.  _

Timmy’s kisses move as he does; Armie’s ribs, his back, his hipbone, the base of his spine. Timmy moves behind him, and the crinkle of the condom wrapper is a new flip of arousal in Armie’s belly as he thinks about Timmy’s hands on himself. The pop of the lube cap; cool slick fingers at his entrance, checking that he’s still ready.

_ I’m ready,  _ thinks Armie, and the certainty is overwhelming. 

“Yes?” asks Timmy. 

_ He must be ready. Is he holding the base of his cock in his hand?  _ Armie wants to be able to see everything. 

Timmy’s hand smoothes across the base of Armie’s back then across his buttock, thumb digging into the flesh a little, and there’s something about the confident  _ ownership  _ of that touch that has Armie’s stomach dissolving with need. 

“Fuck. Yes. Timmy…”

“Okay. Okay, sweetheart. I got you.” 

The press of Timmy’s cock against him is blunt, huge-feeling,  _ but two fingers felt huge and then that was good— _

The long, slow push makes Armie want to gasp in a breath but he keeps it steady,  _ in—and out, in—and out,  _ and he loves the way Timmy doesn’t stop, the way he holds Armie’s hip and the softly-brushed crescent touch of his thumb.

“Good,” murmurs Timmy, and his voice is tight with withheld pleasure, but soft too. “You’re doing so fucking good, Armie. Not much further. Not—much—” 

Armie breathes, long and slow, but he’s not having to consciously relax this time, this is  _ right,  _ this is  _ good,  _ this is  _ Timmy, inside me.  _

“There,” breathes Timmy, and he bends to kiss Armie’s back, his spine, just between the shoulderblades. 

Armie half-shivers at the touch, skin sensitised to every whisper of contact; huffs amusement at his own reaction. Smiles as Timmy kisses him again. 

“Okay?” asks Timmy, and he’s smiling too. 

“Okay,” echoes Armie, and he tests his hips in a tiny, tentative roll. 

Timmy breathes a laugh. “Getting rowdy, huh?” 

_ “Rowdy.”  _ Armie grins at the tease, letting his head hang between his shoulders. “Hardly.” He loves the subtle evidence of strain in Timmy’s voice; of arousal, tightly controlled. 

“’S’that mean you’re ready?” murmurs Timmy, and his palm skims Armie’s side, his hipbone. “You want me to move?” 

“Yes.”  _ Fuck, yes.  _ Armie’s almost dizzy with the heady sense of being far, far beyond his boundaries. 

_ “Yes,” _ murmurs Timmy, bending to kiss Armie’s back again. “Easy as that.” He sounds wondering. 

His hands are gentle on Armie’s hips and then he moves, just a little, it must be only an inch out and back in but it feels so big, so  _ much—  _

Armie gasps, and rolls his hips back into the feeling, because so far leaning into every sensation has brought only pleasure alongside any strangeness. 

“Armie, babe…” that gorgeous strain fills Timmy’s voice again, and Armie’s stomach flips with arousal at the sound. 

“Hmm?” Armie presses back again, signalling  _ more, take more— _

This time Timmy rolls his hips with less caution, pulling further out, pushing back in with quickly-controlled need. 

_ Again. More.  _ Armie drops to his elbows, letting his head hang, rest against his wrists, the hard juts of his thumb knuckles pressing into his forehead—

_ “Fuck.”  _ Armie gasps, and he hears Timmy’s breath catch. 

“Good?” murmurs Timmy, palm sweeping up Armie’s spine.

“Holy shit.” Armie breathes as Timmy moves again, and there’s that feeling again: pressure and tension building inside him in the best possible way— 

“You sound so fucking good right now.” Timmy sounds like he’s grinning. “Hey. Try something for me?” 

Armie huffs breathless amusement. “All your ideas have been good so far.” 

Timmy’s giggle in response to that makes Armie’s chest tighten with love. 

“Cool. Then—jerk off for me.” 

Armie could almost moan at the words. Timmy’s not ordering him, it’s just a suggestion, but something about being directed and  _ looked after _ like this—his pleasure monitored, catered to—is getting to him in a much deeper way than he had expected. 

He reaches down with his right hand, and strokes himself once. Groans softly at the sensation. 

“Perfect. Perfect, Armie,” says Timmy, and his voice is full of need. 

_ Are you close?  _ Armie wants to ask.  _ Come inside me. I want that.  _ He bites his bottom lip and lets his forehead press to the mattress; curves his left hand to his scalp, feeling his short hair, too short to pull for a thread of pain to ground himself in the sea of pleasure—

He starts to stroke himself in time with Timmy’s thrusts, and the tension builds, winds tighter—

_ “Fuck,”  _ whispers Timmy, and he’s trying to keep his desperation a secret, holding back for Armie, when all Armie wants to hear is the noises he makes when he lets go. 

_ Fuck me harder,  _ Armie wants to say. 

_ Hold me down.  _

_ Hurt me.  _

_ Dig your fingers into my hips until you write pain on my skin—  _

_ and make me curse. Make me say your name. _

_ Use me.  _

_ Love me  _

— _ the way I love you _ —

_ please.  _

He tries out the words in his mind. 

_ How can it be so hard to say what I want when he’s literally inside me? Under my skin?  _

Cheeks burning, Armie dares himself to say it. 

“Let me hear you,” he manages. His voice sounds rough. “Please.” 

Timmy breathes out a gasp. Half a laugh. “Fuck. Armie. I’m on the edge here. If you could try to just be, like, eighty percent less hot for one fucking minute, that would be amazing.”

Armie laughs his surprise and fondness into the mattress, still stroking himself, tense with need but pliant under Timmy’s hands, flowing into his touch, eager, wanting, desperate—

“Eighty percent?”

Timmy kisses Armie’s back before he thrusts again, and there’s a groan in his voice as he returns, “at least.” 

“Faster,” murmurs Armie. 

_ “That  _ is  _ not  _ being less hot. It’s like you’re not even trying here.”

Armie gasps a groan as Timmy’s pace increases just a little. “I could—talk about...I don’t know. Motorbikes?”

Timmy breathes a laugh and squeezes Armie’s hip. “No. Bad. Your voice is  _ hot.”  _

Armie grins into the mattress and presses back against Timmy’s thrusts. Truthfully he has no idea how much longer he can last either; hearing Timmy talk about how close to the edge he is is killing him. He’s wound tight, thighs trembling, but he needs something— _ something—  _

_ “Fuck. _ Armie, how do you feel?” Timmy’s voice, tight with arousal, makes Armie’s stomach dissolve with need.

“I—” Armie tries to figure out his thoughts.  _ I have no experience with how this feels; this is more than I've ever—more than I know how to handle. Uncharted territory.  _ "I'm close, I think?" 

There's realization in Timmy's voice. "Feels different, right?" He grips Armie's hips a little tighter. "Tell me what you need." 

_ That. Oh, fuck, that. Just—harder.  _

"That," breathes Armie, and he prays that Timmy understands. His cheeks are burning with the difficulty of saying what he needs. 

"This?" Timmy digs his fingers into Armie's hips with the question. 

It feels like being pulled back onto Timmy's cock, like being  _ used _ to give him pleasure— 

"Yes. Fuck, yes," Armie whispers, and Timmy must be able to feel how tense he is, how he gives himself desperately to every touch, arching into every thrust— _ eager, needy, his—  _

_ His. _

Timmy's hands tighten on his hips and there are biting little crescents of pain where his fingernails dig in and Armie's hand tightens on his cock too and every thrust drives him, shivering, closer and closer to the edge—

"Armie," groans Timmy and his voice is strained with need but wondering all the same. "Fuck. You have no idea the way you look right now—the way you  _ feel _ —perfect, baby,  _ perfect—" _

And Armie doesn't know if it's the bite of Timmy's fingernails at his hips or the soft New York patter of praise but he feels his control break and he gasps Timmy's name into the mattress as he starts to come, shaking, shocked by the full-body bliss of it, not just breaking tension but an overriding wave rushing in, obliterating all thought except  _ Timmy, Timmy— _

It lasts longer than he's ever felt before, and only towards the end does he hear Timmy's litany of  _ Armie, fuck, oh fucking hell baby, Armie— _

Timmy pulls out sooner than Armie had expected, and Armie makes a soft noise of protest. 

He collapses slowly onto the bed, not caring about the mess on the sheets below. 

"Sorry, babe." Timmy kneels over him, pressing a kiss to Armie's cheek. His right hand is holding the condom in place. "It's better to pull out right away, believe me. Gonna be one minute, alright?" 

Armie feels oddly  _ shy.  _ He nods, and watches Timmy walk to the bathroom. 

Bouncing back onto the bed at top speed, Timmy spreads himself across Armie's back and giggles when Armie makes an exaggerated  _ oof  _ sound. Nuzzling into the crook of Armie's neck, Timmy presses kisses to his ear, his shoulder, his nape. "'Kay?" 

_ Everything's different, and everything's the same.  _ Armie cranes his head back for a kiss, long and slow and needy. 

_ I love you.  _

"T'es beau." Timmy kisses the tip of Armie's nose. "Come to bed." 

"Need to clean up," mumbles Armie. He's lying in come, not that he cares greatly. But maybe he will in the morning. 

Timmy gently bites him on the shoulder. "Hurry up then." 

In the bathroom, Armie wipes himself down, then pees. Stares at his flushed-pink cheeks in the mirror, biting his lip to keep from grinning. 

Timmy—hair tousled, eyes bright—watches him from the bed, and Armie has another attack of bashfulness that makes him bury his face in the pillow as he climbs under the duvet—

"Fuck  _ me  _ but you're adorable," grins Timmy, planting kisses relentlessly on Armie's cheek and nose. "Can I be teaspoon?" 

_ You can be anything you want.  _ Armie nods and welcomes Timmy into their usual sleeping position, pressing his lips to the nape of his pale neck. 

They just breathe for a few minutes, and Armie drifts, brain quiet. 

Timmy threads their fingers together. "Armie?" 

"Mmm?" hums Armie. 

"I'm—kind of surprised," admits Timmy. He kisses Armie's palm like he's pressing a secret into it. 

"Honestly?" Armie says, with a soft huff of laughter. "I—kind of am too." 

Timmy draws Armie's hand to the center of his chest. "We have the whole day together tomorrow." His voice is full of a smile. "So. Feel free to keep surprising me." 

Armie grins, and answers by squeezing Timmy's hand.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being here. I hope you are safe and well. x
> 
> If anyone would like to listen to the music Armie plays, it's [here](https://youtu.be/PkNC6yaqvF4).

In the morning, the first thing Armie feels is Timmy's hand smoothing across his hair. 

Armie reaches out for him, eyes still closed. "Why are you wearing...things?" he mumbles, after a second. Then, "w'time is it? I had an alarm." 

"It was a dumb alarm. I turned it off." 

Slowly, Armie cracks his eyes open. "You took the puppies out." 

"Yup. They're wrecking the place right now," teases Timmy, grinning. Touches Armie's chin. "Not really. They're playing tug with Livvy's blanket. Livs is literally pulling Arch along on the wooden floor." 

"You should be catching up on your rest," mumbles Armie, voice gravelly with deep sleep. 

Timmy’s excited, Armie can tell—like a little kid at Christmas. He kisses Armie's cheek, then his lips. "Come and—come to the kitchen." 

Armie blinks, and smiles. "What have you done?" 

Timmy just grins, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Suddenly Armie can see what holidays and birthdays would be like with him. His heart wrenches—

"Oh shit, you adopted another dog didn't you," sighs Armie lightly, groaning himself into an upright position. He pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, smiling when Timmy grumbles, pushing his hands into the waistband of the jeans and pretending to prevent him from dressing. 

Timmy positions Armie to walk ahead of him, and Armie can imagine a birthday, being ushered, urged,  _ escorted _ to open his present—

In the kitchen, Armie takes in the breakfast laid out on the counter—and the scene of devastation in the kitchen—and laughs. He can't hide the grin spreading unstoppably across his face. Turning, he slips his arm around Timmy's waist and pulls him up for a kiss. 

Timmy kisses him quickly, then pushes gently at his chest. "Sit." 

"Full wait service too, huh?" 

Timmy sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm the real deal, babe." 

Armie laughs at the cheesy line, and his chest  _ aches.  _ He takes a seat at the table.

"Waffles? Jesus, Tim." 

"Before you ask, I used a YouTube video," grins Timmy. There are waffles and orange juice and strawberries, and a pot of coffee. Syrup and Nutella already on the table. "I was going through stuff figuring out what I should make and then I found your waffle maker and I—" he looks over at the sink, "—I  _ swear _ I will do the dishes." 

Armie reaches out to him; slips his fingers under the edge of his t-shirt. Pulls him in by the waistband of his jeans, the backs of his fingers against warm, soft skin. "Baby." 

"No, wait—" Timmy flaps a hand at him and goes to the oven; pulls out a plate of bacon and puts it in front of Armie. "There. I  _ also  _ used a YouTube video for that. So. It probably won't poison you." 

Armie huffs a laugh. Nods down at the puppies, bouncing irrepressibly at Timmy's feet. "Think they want bacon. Who knew." 

_ "Eat." _ Timmy pouts slightly, and Armie can't help but grin. 

_ Am I the first lover he's cooked breakfast for?  _

_ No. Surely not. He had a two-year relationship. Get a fucking grip.  _

"You have to eat too." 

"I will. Am." Timmy grabs a chair and sets it right next to Armie's. Pulls his legs up to fold them on the chair. His knee rests on Armie's thigh, a warm press of contact. 

"Hey." Armie lays his arm along the back of Timmy's chair. Leans over to kiss his shoulder. "Thank you." 

Timmy shakes his head, but his cheeks are pink with pleasure. Then, "Livs,  _ no.  _ Off.  _ Off.  _ Not your breakfast. You  _ had _ your breakfast already." 

"Yeah, but—bacon," says Armie, putting a waffle on both their plates. "I mean, c'mon. You have to sympathize." 

Timmy takes a few strawberries, and opens the Nutella. Starts dropping blobs of it into the squares of the waffle. Turns his head to place a kiss on the soft skin inside Armie's elbow. 

"Mmm." Armie takes a huge bite of waffle and bacon and syrup. "Damn. ’S’good." 

"Oh shit—coffee—" Timmy's up again before Armie can stop him, going to the fridge for milk. 

"Baby. You don't have to keep waiting on me." Armie gets Archie to sit, distracting him from the idea of jumping up onto Timmy's chair to get closer to the bacon.

Timmy pours the coffees and puts the milk back in the fridge; settles himself on his chair again, popping a strawberry in his mouth. Strokes Armie's thigh, and casts him a look from under his eyelashes. "I like looking after you too." 

Armie's heart thumps quietly in his chest.  _ That feels—new? Guess I've mostly been the one doing the looking after, since—well. That's always really been my thing. _

He lays his arm on the back of Timmy's chair again; lets his fingers play over the bruises on Timmy's neck, tease his collarbone, trace the freckles on his nape—

Timmy shivers. Gives Armie another look, a hazel-green glance that makes  _ promises. _ "What time do we drop the puppies off?" he asks, innocently. 

Armie grins. "Anytime after ten." 

"Nine-fifteen already," Timmy smirks. "Eat up." 

"So this is a  _ fortifying _ breakfast?" 

"You're gonna need the calories." 

Armie grins into his cup of coffee. "Huh." 

Timmy returns him an oblique little smile, and they apply themselves to their waffles. 

*

Neither of them bother showering, though Timmy insists on messing with his curls and putting on a different t-shirt. 

They brush their teeth at the same time, smiling when they catch each other’s eyes in the mirror. 

Packing up the puppies’ stuff, and tempting them into their crates, Armie can't keep his eyes off Timmy—the wild state of his curls, the graceful turn of his neck with its two purpling lovebites, the sharp cut of his hips and the low-slung waistband of his jeans. 

Timmy carries Archie, and Armie carries Livs, shoving on his flip-flops as they walk out the door, car key in his left hand. 

"You gonna wear flip-flops to drive?" asks Timmy, with a sideways grin. 

"Got Toms in the car," shrugs Armie. "Or I can go barefoot." 

"Not _sure _that's legal." Timmy scrunches up his nose. "Also, I tried it once and it's not easy? It felt so like, out of control."

"Really? Huh." Armie shrugs, using the clicker to unlock the car at a distance. "I kind of like it." 

Timmy slips his hand under Armie's t-shirt and rubs his back. A thrill of arousal runs down Armie's spine, a sense memory of last night, Timmy's hands smoothing across that place as he—

“Babe,” smiles Timmy.  _ “Tell  _ me you've not been endangering yourself on the road. Are these your ‘roaming barefoot around Grand Cayman’ instincts kicking in?” he passes Archie’s crate over when Armie holds out his hand for it. 

"Ha. Maybe." Armie closes the trunk and climbs into the driver's seat, shucking off his flip-flops. "Fuck, I'd love to go back, actually. Haven't been in years. You ever been?" 

Timmy shakes his head, fastening his seatbelt. "Nope. We spent our vacations in Europe." 

"Makes sense. French boy." Armie straightens up, reaches over and pulls on a curl. Lifts his foot slightly, inviting Timmy to see. "Toms. Okay?" 

"'Kay." Timmy throws him a soft grin. 

Armie starts the engine, and they pull away. "You should see it, baby. It’s awesome. I’d give you a tour if you wanted." 

His heart lurches as he hears his own words. 

_ Oh, Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me?  _

"Sounds amazing." Out of the corner of his eye, Armie can see Timmy pulling his sunglasses down, settling them on his nose. 

"Yeah?" Armie asks, glancing over to try and gauge if Timmy really means it. His heart settles to a regular rhythm again.

Timmy scrunches up his nose, smiling. His expression says:  _ duh. _ “A vacation, somewhere warm, somewhere that apparently rates as ‘awesome’ on the Armand Douglas Hammer scale of places, with Armand Douglas Hammer himself as tour guide? I'll take it. If I can afford the plane ticket,” he adds. “Fuck knows what work I'll get when I'm home.” 

Hope and love and pain clutch at Armie's stomach. He wants to say  _ you don't have to worry about affording anything baby,  _ but he doesn't trust his voice right now and he doesn't want to seem like too much—

He can't keep from grinning like an absolute fucking idiot, though. 

After a minute, he says, “there's this awesome little bay. Barely anyone knows about it because you basically have to hike through jungle to get there, but once you're there…” he shakes his head. “It’s the most beautiful fucking place.” 

“You went there as a kid?” asks Timmy, and there's curiosity in his voice. He sounds eager, like he'll take any details Armie will give him. 

And something about  _ that _ forms a lump in Armie's throat. 

Armie nods. "Yeah. After school. I’d just…make my way out there. Read, swim, board. Spend hours. Only go home when I knew I really had to. Half the time I’d miss dinner, and get grounded. Sometimes I’d cut school, and—"

"—get grounded," chimes in Timmy. "I’m sensing a theme." He grins, and makes an appreciative  _ hmm  _ noise. His hand slips to its usual place on Armie's thigh.

_ I want you there,  _ Armie realizes.  _ I want you in the places I was me, before I met you. I want to see you there.  _

After a minute, Timmy says, “you used to go to Paris every year, right?” He sounds hesitant.

They’re being held at a light. Armie glances over, a little surprised at the change of topic.  _ Léo's in Paris, isn't he? Léo and his family that Timmy never got to meet.  _ “Yeah. Yeah, I did. But only for work.” 

Timmy’s bottom lip is pink and swollen, like he’s been biting it. His thumb is restless on Armie’s thigh. “I—fucking love Paris. If you want a tour guide for anywhere…I mean, New York too, but…” he swallows audibly. “I could—if you wanted. I usually visit my sister every year anyway, so…” 

Armie’s stomach flips with understanding, with nerves. The light changes and they move away again. “Awesome. Yes. I mean I have to see it properly sometime, right? Can’t just keep going for work.” 

Timmy’s thumb stops sweeping back and forth. “Yeah?” 

Armie can’t help but huff relief and amusement. “Fuck yeah. Listening to you speak French for days? Although I guess maybe we’d never leave our hotel room if I had to watch that the whole time—” 

Timmy snorts a laugh, digging his fingernails into Armie’s thigh. "I make a million mistakes." 

"So? Not like  _ I _ know. And you sound fucking  _ hot."  _

Timmy’s cheeks are pink, and there’s a grin on his face that he tries to hide by turning to look out the window. “Shut up Doug.” 

"Tell me you have a good croissant hookup in Paris." 

_ "Croissant."  _

"Croissant." 

Timmy giggles. "You’re saying it even more American on purpose." 

"I  _ am  _ American. You’re the one who has to stay shit in French and deal with the consequences." 

Tipping his sunglasses up, Timmy catches Armie’s eye and asks, "consequences?" 

Armie grins. "We’ll get a nice hotel. Thick walls." 

“Tub,” adds Timmy, quickly.  _ “Large _ tub.” 

“Huge.” 

Grinning, Timmy looks out the window again. “I like the plan, Doug.” 

*

“I kind of hate leaving them,” says Timmy, as they drive home. 

“Welcome to how I feel every weekday,” says Armie, ruefully. “Lena’s awesome, though. And Livs knows her from the walk yesterday. I’m sure she’ll have a good time.” 

Timmy squeezes Armie’s thigh. “She’s with Archie. Of  _ course  _ she'll have a good time.” 

"You want to stop off anywhere on the way home?" asks Armie, innocently. 

"Doug." Timmy gives him a look over the top of his sunglasses. 

"Coffee?" asks Armie, grinning. "We could stop for coffee." 

Timmy’s grinning too. He rolls his eyes. "Troll." 

*

"Should we shower?" asks Timmy, throwing off his t-shirt on the way to the bedroom. 

Armie laughs. "Well,  _ I _ probably should. I only had a wipe-down last night, after lying in my own come—"

"Hmm." Timmy turns and slips his hands under Armie’s t-shirt. Pulls it up, and drops it on the floor. He pushes Armie back onto the bed, and Armie lets himself be pushed. 

Climbing into Armie’s lap, Timmy kisses his neck. "That’s kind of hot, though." 

Armie wrinkles his nose. "It is?" 

"Yep." Timmy licks the dip at the base of Armie’s neck. "Baise-moi." 

"Oh, fuck." 

"Exactly, babe." 

"It means ‘fuck me’?" 

"Or ‘kiss me’." Timmy brushes their lips together. "Whichever you prefer." 

"Hmm. Both." 

"Mmm," Timmy purrs, and licks across Armie’s lips.

"Baby…?" 

"Hmm?" asks Timmy, pulling back to look at Armie. 

Armie takes a deep breath. "Can we—talk?" 

Timmy’s expressive face shows a quick flick of surprise, but then he smiles. It’s warm, and genuine, and it crinkles his eyes at the corners. "Sure. Take your pants off though." 

Armie snorts a laugh. "Those are your terms."

"Yup." Timmy stands and pushes down his pants, then climbs needlessly slowly across Armie’s lap to collapse onto the center of the bed. 

"Fucker." Armie swats at Timmy’s ass and stands to strip. Curls around Timmy, and kisses his shoulder. He swallows. "I’m—kind of nervous. About this." 

There’s a tiny ridge of confusion wrinkling the top of Timmy’s nose. "This, more than—last night?" he asks, gently. 

Slowly, Armie takes a breath. Forces out the words. "Something—the way I was brought up, I guess—I just...I associate this specific thing with—pain." He says it quickly. His chest is tight with the anxiety of speaking his fears. He wants to close his eyes, clench his fists, curl in on himself. "Inflicting pain," he adds, quietly, "not in the good way." 

Timmy’s eyes are wide, full of careful compassion. "You thought I might—hurt you? Last night?" 

Armie half-shakes his head. "I—don’t think I thought about it the same way. Which is fucking weird, I know." 

Timmy moves, hooking his leg over Armie’s hip. Pulling him closer, pulling him in. "I  _ didn’t,  _ did I?" he asks, suddenly unsure, hand on Armie’s chest. 

"It was fucking perfect, baby." 

"You know there’s literally no pressure to fuck me?" 

Armie smiles, kisses Timmy’s chin. "Only from me. Because I really want to." 

Timmy smiles, and brushes their lips together. "So…would it help if I was in control of how fast we go? How deep? If I’m on top, I’ll be the one in charge of that stuff." 

Armie catches his breath, and Timmy grins. Gives him a knowing little look from under his eyelashes. 

"And now you’re just winding me up on purpose." 

Timmy presses a kiss under Armie’s jaw. "I—guess I have a question. Which you may not be able to answer until after we’ve just, like, tried it, which is totally fine." 

Armie nods. "Okay." 

"I…" and now Timmy’s cheeks are pink. "I guess I wonder how that interacts with…" he swallows, "I mean, in the longer term, not for right now, not for today—I love when you look after me, when—when you dom, and…" he trails off, staring fixedly at Armie's collarbone. His fingers move restlessly on Armie's chest. "So—I…don't really like talking about—stuff about Léo but—I usually bottomed in that relationship but I never—I never asked for stuff I wanted, to—to sub, uh, I guess, and…" his voice dies away. 

Armie’s heart aches with sympathy at the difficulty of expressing what you need. He leans in and kisses Timmy’s nose. 

_ He never asked Léo for that. It's ours, just ours— _

"When we…" he touches Timmy's chin. "Could you show me? Things you want?" He swallows. "It might take me some time to be ready, but I want to know." 

Timmy nods, and looks up at him. "There’s no pressure," he says again, quickly. "And I’m sorry if it makes it—bad? Or—or more difficult—" 

Armie shakes his head. "It might actually—help, baby. Maybe that’s weird, but…it means I—stay in control, and—do what you want. Not…"  _ hurt you thoughtlessly. _

Timmy considers something, head on one side. "Is that—is that kind of...selfish of me?" 

Armie frowns. "How do you mean?" 

"Well it—being a dom—asks you to stay in control, doesn’t it? It means you're not just—enjoying." 

"But it's also what I want," says Armie, gently. "And last night, you gave me the exact same thing." 

Timmy considers it, expression a cascade of distinct thoughts which write themselves across his face. “I—guess. Yeah.” 

Armie strokes Timmy’s side, his hipbone. “I’ve never...prepared anyone. Like you did last night.” 

Timmy grins. “I mean, I have a lot of practice at doing that for myself. I can be ready in five, babe.” 

Armie has to laugh. “I love—” he catches himself, and shakes his head. “You’re a great combination of horny and cute, you know that?” 

Giggling, Timmy rolls on top of him. “Thanks.” Straddling Armie’s hips, he grinds down slightly. “Clearly you bring out the best in me. Want to hear something else?”

“Is it horny, or cute?” 

“Uh…definitely more on the horny end of the spectrum.”

Armie grins. “Sure.”

Timmy grabs his hand and kisses the knuckles of his index and second finger. “I’ve been thinking about riding these fingers since the day we fucking met.” 

Armie sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

“You just sound resigned at this point,” giggles Timmy. He grinds down again, humming satisfaction at the way Armie hardens beneath him.

“Yup. I’m fucked. What else can I say.” Armie threads their fingers together, pulling both Timmy’s hands to his chest. 

“Hmm…you could say…‘show me how you’ll get yourself ready for me, Timmy’. Or…‘suck my fingers, Timmy’.”

Armie shifts his grip quickly to Timmy’s wrists, squeezing them for a moment, then lifting them to his lips. “Little fucker.”

“‘Suck my  _ dick,  _ Timmy’?” Timmy giggles as Armie rolls his eyes and kisses his palms. 

_ He likes to do this—play at winding me up on purpose—and it's easy for him. Asking for what he actually wants—needs—is harder. He gets tongue-tied, just like I do.  _ Armie's chest aches at the thought, at the kinship of their need. 

“Cheeky little shit. I have no idea why I—like you so much.”

Grinning, Timmy leans down to kiss him, slow and filthy. “But you do.” 

“But I do,” admits Armie, murmuring it into Timmy’s mouth. He closes his eyes for a second, and composes himself.  _ Be good for him. Get this right. _ “Now quit teasing, and take your boxers off.”

Timmy’s eyes flash with eager green fire, and he stands up on the bed; wriggles his boxers down, and wobbles on one leg as he kicks them off, reaching out to take Armie’s offered hand. Throws the boxers to the floor, and straddles Armie again. 

“Done. Sir,” he whispers, with a quick widening of the eyes, innocent and expectant, waiting for instruction—

He only smirks when Armie gives him a knowing look. 

Armie runs his hands up Timmy’s thighs, deliberately avoiding touching the hard length of his cock, massaging the muscles gently. 

Timmy cants his hips, pink lips falling slightly open. 

Tangling his hand roughly in Timmy’s curls, Armie pulls him down into a biting kiss. “Doing a lot of wriggling and grinding there, aren’t you baby?”

Timmy smiles into the kiss. Smoothes it quickly away into wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mm-hmm.” Armie lays his hand on Timmy’s jaw, pressing the pad of his thumb against that soft bottom lip. “Open, baby.”

Timmy’s eyes fall half-lidded as he opens for Armie, as he suckles softly on the tip of his thumb. He gets that hazy, blissful expression that makes Armie’s chest warm with satisfaction. 

“So  _ are _ you going to show me?” murmurs Armie, after a minute. 

Timmy flicks his tongue across the pad of Armie’s thumb, then pulls back. “Show you?” he mumbles, and Armie’s pleased to hear that he sounds gentle and pliant.

“Show me how you open yourself up for me.” 

Timmy hums slightly, and presses a kiss to Armie’s thumb knuckle. “If I do it well, will you put your fingers in me?” his tone is no longer a deliberate tease. 

“Of course I will, baby. And I know you’ll do it perfectly.” 

Timmy sighs, softly, and nuzzles his cheek into Armie’s palm. Lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, eyelashes strikingly dark. “I’ll try, Armie.” 

And  _ god,  _ Armie loves this: the sweet calm that Timmy seems to find in submission; the stillness that steals through him as he waits for Armie’s words of praise. 

“Good boy.” Armie strokes Timmy’s cheek. “You need the lube, baby?” 

Timmy nods, and with one last nuzzle to Armie’s palm, leans across to reach for it. 

This time, Armie curls his hand around Timmy’s cock; strokes him slowly, and Timmy gasps, eyelashes fluttering. 

Popping the cap on the lube, Timmy coats his first two fingers with it; Armie thinks,  _ does he use two right away?  _ and it makes his cock strain against his stomach, because  _ it’s like he’s hurrying, it’s like he just wants me inside him sooner— _

“Do you do this a lot, Tim?” asks Armie, and he tries to keep a fine, measured thread of control in his voice, instead of allowing it to become breathless and wondering.

Eyelids heavy, Timmy watches him; rocks forward a little on his knees, left hand in the center of Armie’s chest, steadying, right hand behind him, and his breath  _ catches— _

He nods. There’s no element of a tease in his voice when he says, “I—I think about you.” His breath catches again, and he bites his bottom lip. “Inside me.”

Armie tries very hard not to show how few words Timmy needs to fuck him up. He smiles, slow and gentle. Wipes his thumb across the red, bitten plumpness of Timmy’s bottom lip. Caresses Timmy’s thigh, then strokes his cock again. 

“Oh, fuck,  _ Armie…”  _ whispers Timmy, letting his head hang between his shoulders. “I’m—I’ll be ready so soon—”

“No rush, baby.” Armie tightens his hand a little, stroking more slowly. “You’re doing perfectly.”

Timmy makes a soft little noise that could be a whine if it was louder, and Armie realizes  _ he’s far gone in this; he needs me to look after him.  _ The thought is both heady and daunting.

“Will you—will you touch me?” asks Timmy, quietly. “Where I’m—”

Armie’s breath catches. Heart beating fast, he reaches back and brushes his fingers across the back of Timmy’s hand.  _ The hand he has inside himself.  _

“Yes. Fuck. Yes.” Timmy’s hips stutter slightly. “Please.” 

Armie knows he should really be making Timmy beg, but right now every instinct is protection, gentleness—

Slowly, he moves his fingers down, feeling for the place where two of Timmy’s fingers push inside. Unsure, Armie covers Timmy’s hand with his own, lays his fingers over Timmy’s, almost as if he’s going to push in with them. And  _ oh fuck, maybe that shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. _

Timmy’s eyes are a green, pleading gleam. “Condom,” he says, and his voice is a harsh, broken croak. He moves, impulsively, fingers withdrawing; reaches for the drawer, fumbling as he tears the foil wrapper. 

_ Compare this with the gentle, calm control of yesterday,  _ thinks Armie wonderingly. 

_ How can he be both?  _

_ How can he want me so much?  _

Timmy moves down the bed; bends to take Armie’s cock in his mouth. Licks him slowly, eyes closed, as if finding calm in it. Rolls the condom slowly down, with both hands, fingers delicate. Settles himself across Armie’s thighs again, and reaches for the lube.

Armie touches Timmy’s side, his chest. Over his heart. “Sure you’re ready?”

And Timmy smiles the kind of smile that breaks hearts—wide and sweet and  _ sure.  _ Terribly,  _ devastatingly _ sure. 

He moves, holding Armie’s cock at the base, stroking him once more with the lube. Positions himself and takes a breath.

He presses down, and the feeling is  _ tight,  _ more than anything Armie’s experienced before. 

Timmy moves slowly, but doesn’t stop. His breathing never wavers, and he watches Armie with wide, dark-fringed hazel eyes.

_ Fuck,  _ Armie wants to whisper.  _ Fuck, baby, you’re so tight, and I’m inside you— _

It tears savagely at his heart, because  _ he’s giving me this, he’s giving me—him. _

Armie’s hands rest lightly on Timmy’s waist. Stroking the soft, pale skin of Timmy’s stomach, his thumbs meet easily. 

Timmy breathes, and settles, and sighs. Takes a shivery, triumphant little breath. “Armie,” he murmurs. 

Armie takes a breath of his own, long and slow. Cups Timmy’s cheek. “Perfect. Perfect, baby.”

A shiver starts at Timmy’s shoulders; he gasps as it shakes him, moves him just a little on Armie’s cock—

Armie brushes his fingertips down Timmy’s spine, making him arch his back. Emotion stings behind his eyes, presses and coalesces in his throat. “Will you show me?” he asks, stroking Timmy’s side.  _ Show me everything you like. Everything you want. Everything you’ve never asked for. I’ll give you it all, if I can.  _

Timmy’s breath draws ragged. He licks his lips and his eyes widen just a little. Slowly, he slides his hand on top of Armie’s and presses them closer, closer into his side, his skin, until fingertips and nails bite at his flesh, just below the ribs—

His gaze asks:  _ yes?  _

_ Of course yes.  _ Armie clasps harder at the tender skin for just a moment then relents, soothes, strokes. Wants to kiss, lick. Can’t reach, not like this. Not when he’s—inside.

_ Later, baby. Later I’ll tend every place you wanted me to hurt.  _

Timmy’s lips part on a breath, a breath like relief.

He moves Armie’s hand; brings it to his chest. Covers his heart. Armie’s thumb rests across the hard bud of Timmy’s nipple. 

Slowly, Armie circles it, and Timmy shivers. 

Armie props himself up; pulls Timmy down, gasping when he arches his back because that moves him,  _ inside— _

Licks the hard brown bud. Squeezes it between finger and thumb; licks again. Teases with his teeth, because that makes Timmy groan under his breath. 

“Please…” It’s barely there, the word, and Timmy’s cheeks are pink with embarrassment and arousal. 

Armie smiles up at him and bites—gently, but he  _ does  _ bite— 

_ Yes?  _ asks Timmy again, with his eyes. 

_ Yes, baby. Yes.  _

Timmy hesitates, next, and his cheeks are still pink, eyelashes long, gaze low, fastened somewhere on Armie’s chest as if he can’t look up, can’t ask for eye contact for this.

Slowly, slowly, he covers both of Armie’s hands and draws them to his buttocks. Presses down on his fingers to make the fingernails bite, and when Armie tugs just a little, pulling his cheeks apart, he flushes and groans. Catches his breath on a “yes…”

_ Yes,  _ thinks Armie, and arousal is making it hard to hold back. He doesn’t move, but the urge to push up into Timmy’s body is almost overwhelming. He digs his fingers into the flesh of Timmy’s buttocks and rocks him down, just a little, onto his cock. 

“Oh—” Timmy gasps, and his eyes flutter closed. He bites his lip.

_ Show me more. Show me everything.  _

“You feel incredible.” It’s the most controlled thing Armie can think of to say.  _ I’m inside you. I can’t believe you want me inside you.  _

Timmy shudders and opens his eyes. Takes Armie’s right hand and traces a path with it across his skin, over his hip, his side, his chest—hesitates a moment, then draws it to his neck. Armie’s hand is so large there, covering the pale expanse of skin, the jut of Timmy’s Adam's apple vulnerable in his palm. 

Knowing that Timmy wants to give him control like this—trusts him like  _ this— _ Armie almost groans with it. Timmy’s breath catches as Armie’s cock throbs inside him.

It’s something that Armie doesn’t  _ not  _ know about himself, that he likes this; but it’s been nearly a decade since the last time he tried it. 

The first time had been during one of his heated, unpolished college hookups—a girl he met in a bar who cried out  _ choke me, fucking choke me  _ as he fucked into her from behind, and for a moment Armie was shocked at the thought, but then arousal thrilled down his spine  _ (real arousal?  _ he wonders, because now he can’t help mentally examining every time he slept with a woman, tearing apart the experience and analysing it, trying to compare it to the way he feels when he’s with Timmy, wondering  _ am I gay? am I bi? what’s my label?)  _ and he’d wrapped his hand tentatively across her throat as she tried to spur him on to  _ yes, harder, fuck yes, choke me—  _

They’d ended up hooking up a couple more times after that, because Armie was curious, because he wanted to see what else she’d want, what else she might urge him to in the heat of the moment. 

Timmy’s fingers are slim and gentle on the back of Armie’s hand. His eyelashes flutter, and slowly, he makes eye contact. 

_ Yes?  _ he asks, silently. There’s an anxious pinch between his brows that says  _ too far? Too much? Too weird?  _

“I want to be careful with this,” says Armie, as evenly as he can. “You have to show me.” He swallows. “Where your boundaries are, I mean.”

Timmy’s lips part, and he nods emphatically. “Yes, Armie.” He says it softly, obediently. 

Armie traces his thumb down the side of Timmy’s neck, watching as he brushes across the freckles he’s kissed so many times. 

Timmy’s fingers press over his, and Armie lets his grip tighten just a little. Timmy lifts his chin, baring himself to Armie’s mercy like a wounded animal in a fight.

_ He’s so vulnerable like this. He’s giving me everything, everything— _

The thought is dizzying, overwhelming, and Armie swallows against the hard lump of emotion in his throat. 

Timmy leans in closer, throat warm and soft against Armie’s palm. He makes a muffled, helpless little sound, and rolls his hips just a little. 

Armie gasps.  _ Fuck, Timmy—you feel so good, so fucking good— _

He slides his hand up Timmy’s neck, his jaw, and cups his cheek. “You doing okay?”

Timmy makes a sound that’s half-groan, half-hiccup of laughter. “Armie…” 

“You have any idea how good you feel?” asks Armie, because the only thing he wants to do right now is praise Timmy, tell him with every word and action that he is  _ good, beautiful, perfect.  _ “You’re killing me, baby.” 

Timmy nuzzles into Armie’s palm. “I can—I can make it better—?” 

“Yes.  _ Fuck.” _ He whispers the curse wonderingly. 

Slowly, Timmy rolls his hips again; and he watches Armie with the kind of rapt, pliant need that makes mingled shyness and arousal run molten heat down Armie’s spine.

Armie realizes fast that his reactions had been held in check before by Timmy not moving, by the need to concentrate on what Timmy wanted and needed. But now—Armie caresses Timmy’s cheek with his thumb, and surely everything he feels must be written loud and clear across his face, emotion raw, unmanageable, untameable. He feels exposed.

Timmy presses his face into Armie’s hand again. “Armie…” he murmurs, and it doesn’t even seem to be a plea—just something quietly awed. 

“Yes?” Armie manages to murmur, and it’s stupid, but what he means is  _ I’m here, I’m here, inside you, I’ll do anything to make you happy, to make everything good for you. Do you need me to stop staring at you like a lovestruck idiot? Do you need me to find it in myself to tell you what to do?  _

“No, I—” Timmy half-shakes his head. Closes his eyes at the swipe of Armie’s thumb across his cheekbone. “I just—love that this is a first for you. I love being—that. For you.” 

“You’ve been that in a lot of ways,” Armie reminds him.  _ I’d never been with a guy before you.  _

_ I’d never been with someone who makes me feel like—this.  _

“I want all of them,” says Timmy, and his eyes are green from beneath long, half-lowered lashes. 

Armie’s throat is tight, stoppered with emotion. He can’t stop staring at Timmy, at the details of him; the flush on his cheeks that almost resembles the hectic aftermath of tears, the freckles on his neck, the dusky pink of his tiny nipples. He runs his hand down Timmy’s thigh to feel the silky hair there; brushes it slowly back up to his hip to make Timmy gasp and groan, to make him press down harder, just a little harder, to roll his hips and close his eyes and breathe,  _ breathe— _

“Come here,” mutters Armie, pulling Timmy in, fingers sliding into rebellious curls, petting the nape of his neck. “Come here, baby. To me.” There’s something fierce in his chest; too big, too violent, too  _ much. _ It will only be soothed by  _ Timmy, here, the closest I can get—not close enough, never close enough.  _

_ How much closer do you want to be?  _ Armie asks it exasperatedly, but it’s best not to think about the answer to that question; best to glance at it only from the corner of his eye. 

Timmy lets himself be pulled; falls forward onto his hands. Lets his curls tumble into Armie’s face, stops a breathless quarter-inch from Armie’s lips—

_ “Here,”  _ insists Armie, the vicious, possessive thing in his chest clawing, clawing for more. 

Timmy smiles, and lets himself be tugged into the kiss. He makes a wounded, muffled little sound into the space between Armie’s lips; his hips roll, lift, press, and Armie realizes the angle is making Timmy  _ shudder.  _

Armie wants to smile and cry and groan and— _ anything, anything really— _

_ Make it good for him. Just—get it right. _

He moves both hands to Timmy’s waist, slowly, luxuriating in the feeling of all the smooth soft skin beneath his palms, brushing a hard, pebbled nipple, allowing his fingers to trail across Timmy’s buttock. He lets himself stare selfishly long at the way his hands look on Timmy’s waist, the way his thumbs meet easily, the contrast of their skintones, delicate pallor beneath tanned strength. Waits until Timmy has pulled up, rolled his hips, put space between their bodies—

He digs in his fingernails, just a little, and pulls Timmy back down. It’s not rough yet; just a test. Just to see. 

Timmy’s eyes snap to his, and he shivers. Breathes out a lost, helpless little sound. Leans down to press his forehead to Armie’s temple, not demanding a kiss, but putting himself close. Armie turns his head and gives him what he wants, brushing their lips together, drawing him in. 

“Again,” mumbles Timmy, into the kiss. Then, “please.” 

Armie licks Timmy’s top lip, making him smile. Catches that plush pink bottom lip between his teeth and bites, gently, soothing with his tongue right after. 

“Fangs,” says Timmy, biting back, and Armie pulls him down harder this time, imagining the blush-crescent marks his fingernails must be leaving on Timmy’s back, just above the elegant grooves that sketch an arrow to the base of his spine. 

“You’re thinking,” mumbles Timmy. “What are you thinking?” He presses his forehead to Armie’s, as if maybe he can absorb the thought, feel its contours through their skulls. 

_ Maybe he can,  _ thinks Armie wonderingly.  _ Maybe he can see everything I feel, easily, without words.  _

_ I wish he could.  _

_ Do I wish he could?  _

“You really want to know?” asks Armie, breathless. Smiles, because Timmy’s nose wrinkles as he frown-smiles  _ of course I do, I asked you.  _ “It’s pretty random.” 

“Okay,” Timmy says, and smiles. 

“I love those little grooves on your back,” says Armie. “Either side of your lower spine. And I wish I could see them.” 

Timmy’s head is a curious tilt, his eyelashes a shy flutter. “Next time,” he says, voice catching deeper than Armie ever expects. “We can move the mirror.” 

_ Next time.  _ That  _ next time  _ wrenches in Armie’s chest, leaves him hanging precariously at the edge of something overwhelming. He brushes his thumbs across Timmy’s stomach.

Timmy’s hand lands on his; he guides it back, behind himself, and there’s hesitation like he’s not sure if Armie’s going to want what he’s being given but there’s determination _ —need— _ in his eyes, too. 

Arousal crests then winds up and tightens in Armie’s thighs as Timmy pulls his hand slowly to the place where Armie’s inside him, fingers touching the entrance to his body, and Timmy groans at the same time as Armie does, head hanging heavy, shoulderblades winged high—

Timmy clasps his fingers between Armie’s, arm twisted back awkwardly,  _ but maybe he likes that,  _ thinks Armie as he imagines slipping his fingers in alongside his cock, giving Timmy more. 

He tightens his hand at Timmy’s waist and pushes him down, harder, just to feel with his fingertips the slick slide of his own body into Timmy’s. It feels oddly more  _ real  _ like this, an independent confirmation, a second opinion. 

Timmy’s lips are parted against Armie’s cheek, dragging with his rocking movements, and he’s panting quietly. “Armie…” 

_ He needs me.  _ Armie moves his hand, just a little, to grasp Timmy’s buttock. Lets his fingernails bite a little as he parts Timmy, pulls-pushes him down, rolls his hips up, too—

“Fuck,” whispers Armie, even though he doesn’t mean to, and Timmy gives a torn little groan. Reaches his hand between their bodies, is about to touch himself when he shudders and finds Armie’s eyes, mutters— 

_ “Please—” _

“Yes.” Armie could almost laugh. He half-shakes his head. “Fuck, Timmy. Yes.” 

“Fuck, Armie, I—” Timmy’s forehead presses hard against his. 

Armie can’t tear his gaze from Timmy’s lips, pink, parted around rough, shuddering breaths. In the periphery of his vision, Timmy’s shoulder moving, his hand wrapped around himself—

Armie groans and pushes up harder, just a little faster, hips rolling. 

“Oh god, oh fuck, yes,” whispers Timmy, with that edge of tension in his voice that telegraphs  _ keep doing that and I’m lost, I’m lost— _

“Beautiful,” says Armie, because the only words he can think of right now are praise, and he hopes they’re enough, “so fucking beautiful, Timmy, you’ve got no idea, the way you look, baby, let me see you come—you’re perfect, you feel perfect, so good for me—”

Timmy cries out, curtailing the sound as he presses his lips to Armie’s cheek, breathing out humid, disconnected syllables of Armie’s name—

Armie looks down at the sight of Timmy’s hand on himself, at the spurt of come across his own chest and stomach, at the way Timmy rocks forward and back as if torn between sensations—

Armie thrusts up again, losing it with a moan that bears no resemblance to the only word on his mind,  _ Timmy, Timmy _ — 

He’s brought to himself by Timmy’s gasp, the way he twitches and shivers and smiles, oversensitive. 

Armie strokes Timmy’s hip. “You want me to—”

Slowly, Timmy nods. There’s the hint of a pout to his red, bitten lips. “Better now than later,” he mumbles, and it sounds like  _ don’t leave me.  _

Reaching up, Armie strokes his thumb across Timmy’s lips. “Back in a second.” He keeps his hand at the base of the condom as Timmy raises, shaky-thighed, off him. 

Armie’s legs are shaky too, and he’s pink-cheeked, eyes sparkling in the mirror as he washes his hands, wipes his chest and stomach. Bends to take a gulp of cold water from the faucet. 

Timmy is sprawled in sunshine across the bed, basking like a cat, curls a mess. He licks into Armie’s mouth when he crawls over him, chasing the cool fresh trace of water. Arches his back when Armie lays a hand lightly at the base of his neck. Mumbles, “’m’not usually that—fast. Uh. With that.” 

Armie smiles and collapses next to him. Curves his fingers to the nape of Timmy’s neck and pulls him onto his side, into a kiss.  _ You’re perfect.  _ “Then I’m flattered?” 

Timmy half-rolls his eyes. “I’m a mess.” 

“You’re perfect.” Armie kisses the corner of Timmy’s mouth. “You made me breakfast. Shall I go make us more coffee?” 

“I want to listen to you play the piano.” Timmy says it quickly, impulsively. Kisses Armie’s chin. 

“Oh, Jesus.” Armie feels himself flush. Scrunches up his face. “Really?” 

“I haven’t, yet.” It has the air of  _ I want to hear you play at least once before I leave.  _

“Argh.” Armie presses his forehead to Timmy’s temple. “I haven’t played properly in so fucking long.” 

“You practised recently.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m good enough for actual humans to listen to.”

“Glad I count as an actual human.” 

Armie huffs a laugh and dips down to kiss Timmy’s neck. “Only actual humans have freckles like  _ this—” _

“Don’t try and distract me.” 

Groaning, smiling, Armie rolls onto his back. “Fine. Then  _ you  _ bring  _ me  _ coffee.” 

“I can do that. See you at the piano.” 

“Don’t think my legs work…”

_ “See _ you at the  _ piano.” _

“It’s only a keyboard—”

“I’m leaving.” Timmy kisses Armie’s stomach as he crawls across him, and Armie reaches out to stroke his buttock, his thigh, earning himself a soft hazel look over an angular shoulder. Tugging on his boxers and t-shirt, Timmy heads for the kitchen. 

Armie sighs. Stares at the ceiling. Gets dressed, and heads to the study. 

He’s nervous, somehow; nervous to play for this man whose body he was just inside, who made him breakfast, who fucked him gently, who offered to show him Paris. He sits on the stool and starts quietly to test the first few bars, trying to find his courage. 

Timmy must move silently, because Armie only realizes he’s there when a hand settles softly on his nape. Then there are arms around his chest, his waist; lips resting on his neck. “Carry on,” deep and quiet, spoken into his skin. 

So Armie plays as much as he’s learned of the piece; and when he’s done, Timmy’s hand strokes his arm, the inside of his elbow, the back of his hand. 

“‘Resta con me’,” reads Timmy, lips brushing Armie’s ear. “I don’t do Italian.”

Armie swallows, throat tight. Covers Timmy’s hand with his. “‘Stay with me’,” he supplies. Leaning back against Timmy, he closes his eyes. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can never thank you guys enough for being here, for reading, for leaving me such lovely kudos and comments. Keep safe. 💜

During puppy class, Armie notices something. A few things. 

He notices the way the couple on the other side of the room—the ones with the tiny fluffy corgi—touch. It's nothing particularly worthy of the title of PDA; just quick brushes of the hands or tangles of the fingers. She reaches into the pocket of his hoodie to get more treats. He brushes a piece of lint from her jeans. Their upper arms rest together while they keep their puppy quiet and sitting on his blanket. 

Armie also notices the careful way Timmy holds himself; the way he smiles readily at Armie, or turns to whisper comments occasionally, or leans in to listen to something that Armie murmurs. But he makes sure that the distance between them, though small, always remains intact. 

They had spent the afternoon on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket because _ I’m cold, _ Timmy had grumbled, and _ how the hell are you cold, you're wearing my hoodie and two pairs of my socks and you're in LA, _ Armie had smiled, pulling the blanket over them both. They’d watched movies and made out lazily for hours; they’d almost been late to pick up the puppies for class, and all of Timmy’s stuff is still at Armie’s apartment. 

After hours of contact, hours of touch and connection, Armie hates the stubborn inch or so of space between them here. 

_ He must think I wouldn’t want us to touch. To—to basically come out in front of this group of people we see every week. _

_ Only for one more week, with him. I can’t imagine he’ll want to do puppy class the night before he flies home. I can’t imagine I will, either. I’ll want every second of him I can get. _Armie's stomach squirms at that, and he looks quickly down at Archie. Caresses his curly ears. 

_ These people don’t matter. Their opinions don’t matter to me. _

_ Only Timmy matters. _

Armie swallows. Takes a breath. Reaches out and brushes the back of his hand against Timmy’s leg. Leans in to whisper something about the next task for the puppies. 

Timmy’s head turns, slightly; there's surprise in the glance he gives Armie, but he leans into the touch. Skims his fingers across Armie’s wrist in return. 

Armie catches his hand for a moment, and squeezes. 

As they leave the community center, he touches Timmy's hip to steer him out of the path of a hyperactive labradoodle puppy, then settles his hand across the nape of Timmy's neck. 

_ Only Timmy matters. _There is dizzying, precipitous liberation in the thought. 

Before they get in the car, Armie kisses the top of Timmy’s head, burying his lips in makeout-mussed curls. 

“They're always so fucking exhausted after class,” laughs Timmy as they drive, turning around to stare at the puppies in their crates. “Livs usually just completely zonks out as soon as we get back home. Like, wherever in the apartment. One time she fell asleep in her dinner bowl.” 

“Shit, really?” 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, she finished the food first.” 

Armie snorts. “Right. Of course.” He checks the mirror as he changes lane. Bites his lip, then says what he’s been thinking since before they even left the apartment. “Stay at mine tonight.” _ Please. _

Timmy smiles, hand settling on Armie’s thigh. “Don’t you have to leave super early though?” 

Armie shrugs. “Yeah. But still. You can sleep and just let yourself out. You still have your—the, the key, right?” He adds, “it’ll mean Livs doesn’t even have to wait to zonk out tonight.” 

Timmy’s thumb swipes across Armie’s thigh. “Aren’t you sick of me in your space yet?” he asks, lightly. 

“Definitely. That’s why I asked you to stay. I’m a masochist.” 

Timmy gently pinches Armie’s thigh. Armie steals a glance at his profile. He’s grinning. 

“Fine. You realize I’m gonna send you pictures of me doing—_ things _in your bed while you’re at work though—”

“Timothée. Not in front of the _ children.” _

Timmy giggles. “The kids are asleep though, babe.”

Armie keeps his hand on top of Timmy’s the rest of the way home.

*

“You’re not really wearing a t-shirt to bed.”

“You keep your air-con way too cold.” Timmy nuzzles Armie’s collarbone. “Anyway I like your t-shirt. It’s soft, and it smells of you.” 

_ “I’m _ soft. _ I _smell of me.” 

Timmy giggles. “You are _ not _ soft. You go to the gym too much to be _ soft. _ And you’re hard a lot—”

“Well whose fault _ is _that, really?”

“Do you love morning sex? I _ love _morning sex. Fucking before work is the best.” 

Armie pulls Timmy on top of him. Luxuriates in the weight of his gangly body. Strokes his hips. “Yes. Half-asleep—all warm, taking it slow—”

“Ugh, fuck you _ and _your voice.” Timmy noses at Armie’s throat. Kisses it. Licks the dip at the base of his neck. “What time do you have to leave?”

“Well technically I don’t _ have _to be at my desk until nine. But I try to go earlier so I can leave earlier. Get to the gym—” 

“So you normally leave at like…”

“Seven? Drop Arch off, head to the office.”

“And…if you woke up with someone sucking your cock you would be…fine with that?”

Armie huffs amusement, a quick shock of arousal tugging in his thighs, at the base of his spine. “Has anyone ever answered ‘no’ to that?” 

Timmy grins. Shrugs. “Knew one guy who gave it a hard no. Like, thought it was somnophilia or something.” 

Half-shaking his head, Armie rolls his eyes. “O-kay. Well. Yeah, I would definitely be fine with that.” He adds, “I mean, who’s ‘someone’? I’d rather it was you.” 

Timmy giggles into Armie’s chest. “’Kay. I won’t recruit anyone else then.” 

“Hey, you can use my tub while I’m at work.” 

Timmy’s fingers stroke back and forth across Armie’s chest, playing absently with the hair there. “Again, I hope you’re ready for the pictures—”

Armie laughs quietly into Timmy’s curls. “Meanwhile you’ll just get a picture of my salad.”

_ “And _gym pics. Shirtless gym pics.” 

“Oh, _ shirtless _now?” 

“You sent me some before. There’s no going back. Only escalation from this point on.”

“How am I gonna escalate? I don’t shower at the gym.” 

“Ugh. _ Wait. _ So you’re telling me if I didn’t have work you’d come home all sweaty and—”

_ Home, _ thinks Armie, stomach fizzing with nerves and joy. _ Please don’t let him notice, please don’t let him correct it. _

_ Home. _

“Yup. Although I don’t really see why you’d want that. I stink when I get home.” 

“Mmm.” Timmy closes his eyes like he’s sniffing a fine glass of wine.

Armie laughs. “Okay. You freak.” He runs his hand through Timmy’s curls, gentling the word. Follows the dark line of his eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. “Baby. Promise me to sleep well.” 

“That’s up to _ you. _ Do the spell.”

“Already did.” Armie brushes their lips together. “Why’d you have to go and talk about morning sex, huh?” he smiles. They’re both half-hard. 

“Just checking what you like, for…reasons…” 

“Go to sleep, Timothée.” Armie rolls Timmy off him, and turns him with a hand on his hip. Curls around him, working his knees carefully in behind Timmy’s.

“Makes the morning sex come faster.” Timmy snorts at his own unintentional joke. “If you see what I mean.”

Armie huffs a laugh into Timmy’s nape. Kisses there. Finds freckles; gets lost following them for a minute. “Go to _ sleep.” _

_ “You _ go to sleep. You’re the one kissing my neck.”

Timothée Hal Chalamet.”

“Doug.”

“Ugh.”

Timmy collects Armie’s hand and pulls it to his chest; tangles their fingers together. “Go to sleep, Doug.” 

“I’m already asleep.”

“Not.” Timmy accompanies his words with a butt-wriggle that presses back against Armie’s cock, half-hard in his boxers. 

“Little fucker.” Armie bites at Timmy’s neck. “Stop. Be good for me.” 

“Mmm.” Timmy gives a soft, satisfied sigh. “I can be good for you.” Then, after a minute, “sleep well, Doug.” 

*

“Holy fuck,” mutters Armie. “Tim—_ Timmy—” _

“Mmm.” Timmy smiles around Armie’s cock. His eyes are heavy-lidded, golden-hazel in the soft morning light that filters around the edges of the blinds. 

“Shit. You have no idea what you look like, baby—” Armie fights the need to push up into the tight warmth of Timmy’s mouth, but Timmy’s hand is on his, urging Armie to wind his fist harder into his curls, to tug on them more insistently, to direct his actions. 

Craning his neck, Armie can see Timmy’s shoulder move; further away, the blur of him fisting his cock. The sight winds his arousal tighter than ever.

Armie’s breathing comes in quick, ragged pulls; he’s close but holding back, trying to enjoy the feeling for as long as possible. 

“Move your hips,” says Timmy, pulling back for a second. “I can tell you want to—” He groans—eager, turned on—and grabs Armie’s hand. Sits back on his heels. “Come here—” 

_ “Fuck.” _ Armie lets himself be pulled up to stand; be guided to the expanse of wall next to the bathroom door. 

Arousal tugs fiercely at him as Timmy kneels again, back to the wall. 

His lips are red, swollen with kisses, with sucking Armie. He smiles, and the edge of sweetness to it, the crinkles at the sides of his eyes, catch behind Armie’s heart. 

He pulls Armie’s hands to his head. 

“Can I still jerk off?” Timmy asks, and his voice is just a little rough. Used.

“Yes. And you can come.”

“Not until you do.” Timmy says it softly, looking up at Armie through his eyelashes. 

Armie runs his thumb along Timmy’s cheekbone. Gently touches his red lips. _ Whatever you want, baby. Anything you want. _“Let me see you.” 

Timmy nods, and scrunches Armie’s hands into his hair. _ Hurt me just a little, _ his eyes beg. _ Please. _

Armie runs his fingers through Timmy’s curls; twists them, quickly, a flicker of pain just to let Timmy know he understood his request. 

Timmy’s lips part on a silent gasp; he licks them, and places a kiss to the tip of Armie’s cock. “You can fuck my mouth,” he says quietly. “I like it.” He takes Armie back in, one long, slick slide. 

Keeping his left hand in Timmy’s hair, Armie braces his right against the wall. Timmy picked the position carefully, he realizes; Armie is much more in control like this. If he wanted, he could lean forward and push hard into Timmy’s mouth. Even pin him against the wall, make him take Armie’s cock without pause. 

Armie tugs again on Timmy’s curls. Catches his eye when he looks up. Rolls his hips, pushing into Timmy’s mouth, testing the angle and depth of the stroke. Timmy smiles, tracing patterns on Armie’s hipbone with his fingertips. The look in his eyes means _ yes, perfect, _and Armie loves these silent moments of complicity—the testing of boundaries together, the setting up of the scene. 

Tightening his hand, Armie makes sure that Timmy feels the control he could exert over his head, the way that he could—if he wanted—force Timmy’s mouth down onto his cock. 

Timmy moans, quietly, in his throat. Intensifies the suction and laps intently at Armie's shaft, flicking his tongue deliberately against the place just below the head that has Armie gasping, groaning.

Armie lets sensation take over; lets himself build a rhythm as Timmy matches it, his mouth meeting Armie's thrusts seamlessly. 

Looking down, Armie watches in awe, switching his gaze from the sight of his cock disappearing between Tim's reddened lips, to where Timmy's jerking himself off, just slowly now, clearly holding himself obediently at the edge as he waits for Armie to come first. 

Armie's hand tightens in Timmy's hair, and Timmy _ moans, _ eyelashes fluttering prettily against his flushed cheeks. 

Arousal wound tight through every part of Armie's body, the sight and sound and _ feel _ of Timmy is suddenly all too much to handle—he thrusts, once, twice, three times more and then he's groaning, coming, fighting to keep his eyes open because he's not going to miss the moment when Tim finally comes—

And it's almost immediate; Timmy moans again, the hum of it making Armie spurt, making him rock his hips, press again into the hot wet pleasure that is Timmy's mouth as that slim body shudders and stills and Timmy comes, moaning low, desperate noises around Armie's cock— 

Timmy looks up. Laps softly at Armie's cock, pulls back, and swallows. Grins, widely, glowing with the pleasure of having made Armie come. He wipes his hand on Armie's boxers, thrown to the floor nearby.

_ "Fuck," _mumbles Armie, jelly-legs hitting as he takes a step back. 

Timmy giggles, and stands up. Winds his arms around Armie's waist. "Okay there, babe?" 

Armie rests his forehead against Timmy's. Half-shakes his head. "You've broken me. I'm not going to get a thing done at work." 

Timmy grins. "No way. We'll have a shower, you'll have breakfast, then you'll drop Arch off and have an _ excellent _day at work." 

Armie kisses him slowly, tasting himself. _ Wish you'd be here when I get home. _

*

On Tuesday, therapy gives Armie even more to think on than usual. 

Jane asks him to explain more about what he means when he says that Liz would have been perfect as part of his family, was exactly what his mom wanted for him. 

"She was…" Armie pauses, trying to get his thoughts in order. "She's very good at controlling the narrative. She _ has _ to. I guess it's—for a social media manager, I mean—it's a good quality. And in our personal life, too, she was…she—curated it. Carefully. The image we presented. On social media, to friends…" he half-shrugs. "I think that's part of why so many of our friends were so surprised when I…" he looks away. "But it was because I just let her. Do that, I mean." 

"And you recognize that?" asks Jane. "As something which would have been consistent with your family's behavior?" 

Armie nods, firmly. "As a kid, it was always about how we were representing the family, you know? Whether we were a—a _ credit _ to the image my parents wanted to portray." He takes a breath. "Because of—Church. My mom's… and my dad's business, of course. And—the history of charitable giving the family has, the museum, my grandfather's legacy…" he looks away. Stares at the potted plant in the corner. The shape of it has become almost meaningless to him now, he stares at it so much. 

"You were drawn to that ability in Elizabeth," says Jane, quietly. "Her ability to manage image." 

Armie presses his lips together, thinking. "I guess I—recognized it. Found it—comforting." 

"You said that many of your friends were surprised when you broke up with her. That perhaps they had believed in the image she presented of you as a couple, rather than the reality." 

Armie takes a breath. Blinks, and nods slightly. 

"It seems to me that the need to maintain a public image from a young age has often caused you to feel alone. Disconnected from others." 

Armie's throat is tight. He swallows. Forces out the words. "I—realized maybe not many of my friends know me. That well." When Jane only nods, he adds, "I realized maybe _ I _ don't know myself that well, either. It's—easier to just be what people want you to be. It was easier to let Liz be in charge of the narrative. I—I think maybe I didn't want to lie, but also…" _ I didn't have enough courage to tell the truth. _

Jane shifts slightly in her chair. "How did you feel, with Liz in charge of your—as you put it—narrative?" 

Armie takes slow, deliberate breaths. Thinks about it. "Protected. From—from being seen. But also out of control of—my life, I guess. And now when I think about it, I don't like the amount of control it gave her over me. And I don't—I'm not sure I like that she was happy _ having _ that much control, either." 

Watching him calmly, Jane says, "in Timothée, you have chosen a partner who _ cannot _help you to maintain, publicly or in private, the image that your mother wishes for you. For your family." 

Armie swallows. "I—on Sunday. I noticed that he didn't touch me, in puppy class. That he was—letting me pretend we weren't together. I guess because we see those people every week, he thought—"

Nodding slightly, Jane asks, "how did you feel about that?" 

Armie frowns. "I touched him, of course. I made sure they couldn't think we were just friends." His chest is tight with the renewed realization that he had made Timmy unsure in that way, with anger at his own cowardice.

Jane huffs slight amusement. "Ah. Of course." Her eyes crinkle warmly at the edges. 

In a burst, Armie says, "I need to talk to Liz. Make sure she—just—talk to her. My mom's been—" he waves a hand, knowing that Jane has already heard all about it. "I don't want this to go on. I want Liz to be sure I'm not—that there's no chance I'll come back." 

Thoughtfully, Jane nods. "I think it would be a good step." 

At the gym, Armie lets his trainer exhaust him for nearly two hours. His muscles are screaming by the time he hits the changing room. After sending Timmy the obligatory selfies, he opens his text chain with Liz. Scrolling up, it's profoundly strange to see their abruptly-curtailed messages—grocery lists, meme shares, suggestions for things they could buy for the apartment; regular Instagram links from Liz of posts requiring his like and comment. And then—nothing. 

Armie: **Could we meet? Would be good to talk some things through. **

He shoves his phone into his gym bag, and doesn't look at it again until he gets home. 

*

Wednesday morning, Armie sits at his desk, biting his lip and staring at the text he's just typed out. Eventually, he takes a breath and sends it. 

Armie: **So I hope it's not weird to tell you but I said I'd have dinner with Liz tonight **

Quickly, he adds more context. 

Armie: **Talking to Jane yesterday I realized I need to make sure Liz knows nothing's going to happen between us again & she needs to move on. (Which shouldn't be fucking necessary, but thanks to my mom…) **

Armie: **Sorry. I feel weird about sending this but I'd also feel weird about not telling you. x **

It takes Timmy a few minutes to reply, and Armie's stomach is squirming by the time his phone lights up with the text at last.

Timmy: **ty for telling me. hope dinner's good. call me after? ❤️ **

Armie: **Sure baby xx**

_ There's something massively fucked up about the fact that my ex and I are going out to eat tonight but I've never taken Timmy anywhere nice, _ Armie thinks, frowning. _ It's because of his job, really—mostly—but it's still wrong. Maybe I should take him out somewhere nice for brunch on Sunday. He'll be hungover from his wrap party but he's only twenty-one. He won't be so hungover he won't want to eat. _

He spends the next few minutes researching and reserving a fancy but unpretentious brunch spot for Sunday. 

He buys a ticket to the last night of Timmy's play. 

He feels better. 

*

He'd let Liz choose the restaurant, and she'd picked a favorite of hers—the place she always wanted to go for her birthday, or for special events. 

_ Our anniversaries, _thinks Armie uncomfortably, fidgeting with his phone as he waits for her in the lobby. 

Armie: **Can't wait to talk later xx **

Timmy: 😍 **livs sends face-licks and wags**

Timmy: **[image]**

Timmy: **look at her little dumb faaaace** 😍 

Armie's grinning, just about to text back, when someone touches him lightly on the arm. 

"Hi," says Liz softly, and then she's leaning in to kiss him on the cheek—lightly, as she always does when she's dressed to go out, because she doesn't want to mess up her lipstick. _ "Love _the hair." 

"Uh, hey." Armie shoves his phone into his pocket, and smiles, mechanically. She's wearing the black dress he always liked, or one that looks a lot like it. 

"Shall we go in?" she asks, including the maître d' in her warm gaze. She's always been good at it: giving people the impression of immediate fast friendship. It gets her everywhere, especially with staff. 

It was what first made an impression on Armie, too, when they met. She had seemed so sure of herself, of her power to charm. And it had worked. 

As they follow the maître d' to their table, Armie takes a breath. Clutches his phone in his pocket like a talisman. 

They order drinks, and starters; it's bizarrely normal. Liz orders exactly what she always does at this restaurant, and Armie finds himself doing the same. He asks about work, and she talks brightly about the accounts she's been managing, including several new clients; snaps a picture of the table _ for the 'gram, _ and reminds him that she's always working.

She also starts catching him up on the news from their friendship group, and it's only when the main course arrives that she puts her chin in her hand and says, "so, you wanted to talk." 

He swallows a sip of wine, and nods. "Uh—yeah. Well. About time, I guess." 

"Hmm," she hums, shifting in her chair. She gives him the sympathetic look that means _ tell me more. _Armie recognizes every look, every mannerism, and they all hit him with the strangeness of their familiarity. 

_ I wish Timmy could try this steak. It's so fucking good. _

"Nick—told me you and my mom are still in contact." Armie forces out the words. 

Liz smiles, but it doesn't crinkle the edges of her eyes. "You know I love Dru," she says lightly. 

"Mm." Armie struggles against the urge to give a wry answer. "It's just—from what Nick said, it kind of sounded like my mom had…contradicted what I said. About…" he takes a breath. "Ending things. Our relationship." 

Liz's smile tightens slightly, but she shrugs airily. "Remind me never to tell Nick anything ever again." 

"Ha. Tell me about it." Armie takes a gulp of wine, then sighs. "Listen, I—it's nice. It's really nice that you and my mom get on so well, but I haven't talked to her since we—since the breakup. She doesn't know anything about…I haven't changed my mind," he says, at last. "I tried to be clear with you about—it ending. And I—I did mean it. It wasn't fair of her to—say that stuff. To you. I want you to be able to—move on. Find the right person." 

Liz's expression has hardly changed, but she looks _ closed _ all the same. Her eyes are hard. There's a pause, during which she plays with her fork. "I appreciate you telling me," she says, at last. Her voice is sweet, and Armie takes a breath. "And you doing it in person," she adds. "We were always friends, Armie." 

He smiles. He just wants this to be over; wants to be able to call Timmy. He takes a big bite of steak and fries. "Tell me more about the client who's having the affair," he says, picking up his glass of wine. 

When the coffee comes, Liz insists on toasting in espresso 'to moving on'. Armie's well-fed, and together they've worked their way through a bottle of red and some champagne. It was always like this, here, with her. 

"Moving on," he says, and he can't suppress his smile. 

She leans forward, chin in her hand. Smiles, mischievously. "So. Have you? Moved on, I mean?" 

Armie looks down at the tablecloth; he shakes his head, but he knows the huge, irrepressible grin spreading across his face must be giving him away. 

"You _ have," _ she squeals, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. She picks up her phone with the other. "Oh my god, _ Armie! _Tell me more. Who is she? Do you have any pictures? Is she on the 'gram?" 

And Armie feels the sinking sensation in the pit of his belly that he always does when he hears the _ 'she', _but he's full, and satisfied, and a little fuzzy with wine. He remembers the careful inch of space at puppy class, and he looks up, looks Liz right in the eye. Says, firmly, "he's awesome. And he probably is on Instagram, but I haven't even thought to ask, to be honest. Haven't been using it." 

Her face changes, immediately; sharpens with shock, then curiosity. With a quick little quirk of something that could be amusement at the corner of her mouth. There's a beat; then she smiles. "You always could surprise me," she says, sweetly. 

"Ha." Armie tries to control the relieved shake in his voice. "Well." He half-shrugs. Looks away, and smiles again. "It's new." 

"Mm, _ very _ new," she says, with a wink. "That's great, Armie. Just—being who you are." 

Armie can see her mind working: _ it wasn't me, he was gay all along, he wouldn't marry me and he broke up with me because he was gay all along. _ And there's something in him that rebels at the thought; something in him that says, _ hey, I don't even know what I am yet. What my label is. I just know I've met someone who makes me happier than I've ever been in my life. _

_ But honestly—what does it matter? _

_ The only person who matters is Timmy. _

"I'm not telling everyone, yet," Armie says, and he still can't suppress the grin he gets when he thinks about Timmy. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't—you know. I'm doing this in my own time." 

"Of _ course," _she says, with a sympathetic smile. "Of course." 

*

In the Uber on the way home, he sees that she's tagged him in an Instagram post: a picture of the table, and his hands. Wine and champagne glasses. The caption says _ @armiehammer always did know how to wine and dine me in style! _

She's tagged the restaurant, too. 

*

"You sound kind of buzzed, babe." Timmy's voice is warm, amused. "You know it's a school night, right?" 

Armie laughs. "I know. I knew it would be like this, though. Always was." He's in bed, hugging a pillow; the pillow he pretends is Timmy on weeknights. Archie's in his crate in the living room. "How was the show? Were you perfect as always?" he smiles to himself. 

"Oh my god. Armie, I'm _ just _realizing I've never got drunk with you. Are you a super cute drunk? You seem like you might be a super cute drunk." 

Armie grins at the ceiling. "Uh. Up until a certain point? Then I punch pillars." 

"Right, okay. Noted." Timmy sounds like he's smiling. 

"Need to see you," says Armie, because it's the only thing he can think about. His chest aches with it. "I miss you. Let me see you." 

"I'm eating cereal in bed…" 

"Baby." Armie curls around his phone. "Please. I _ need _ to see you eat cereal in bed." 

"That's a kink you never—" 

_ "Baby." _

Timmy giggles. "Fine. Hang on." He hangs up, and calls back on FaceTime. Holds up his bowl of cereal. "There. Happy?" 

He looks tired, eyes deeply shadowed. His curls are a mess. He's wearing soft grey sweats and a pink hoodie. 

_ I love you, _ thinks Armie, helplessly. _ I love you so much it hurts. _

"Why are you so beautiful?" he asks, and Timmy shakes his head, smiling, then leans in to stare at him.

"Super cute drunk," he says fondly, rolling his eyes. "So how was dinner?" 

Armie smiles. Shrugs. He mostly just wants to stare at Timmy. "Fine. Totally fine. I told her my mom was talking crap. And—I told her about you." 

There's a _ clink; _ the spoon in the cereal bowl. Timmy puts it aside, leaning over to set it on the nightstand. There's a sliver of skin where his hoodie rides up, and Armie longs to kiss it. "You did?" he asks, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He hesitates. "Was she…okay?" 

"She was fine," says Armie. He waves his hand broadly, even though Timmy can't see the gesture. "I think she was kind of relieved." 

"Relieved?" Timmy's brows scrunch together in a frown. 

"Well, she has an explanation now, right?" Armie says, with a huff of laughter. He shrugs. Wants Timmy in his arms more than anything else in the world. "Fuck, baby. Why aren't you _ here?" _

Timmy half-shakes his head. "School night. And you definitely ought to be asleep already, Doug." 

Armie sighs. "I _ hate _ this. Can I pick you up Friday night?" 

Timmy smiles. "Pick me up, huh?" 

"In the _ car." _Armie grins. "But also—" 

Snorting a laugh, Timmy leans in. "Yes, Doug, you can pick me up Friday night." 

"Stay the weekend at mine." 

"I'll be out Saturday night. For the wrap party." 

"I know. I'll pick you up then too." 

"I'll be drunk." 

"I know. You're so cute." 

"Last time I was drunk I just cried on you." 

"I _ like _ when you cry on me." 

Timmy laughs. "O-kay. Whatever you say." 

"I made reservations for brunch on Sunday." 

"You did?" Timmy's smiling, showing his crooked teeth. 

"I felt like shit knowing I was going out with Liz, when I've never taken you out anywhere nice." 

Timmy scrunches up his nose. "I love brunch." 

_ I love you. _"Good. I do too." 

"You need to sleep, babe." 

"So do you." Armie hesitates. "Can we…stay on the phone?" 

Timmy's resting his cheek on his fist, his elbow on his knee. Looking at Armie with fond, tired eyes. "Yeah. I'll just go brush my teeth." He blows Armie a kiss and disappears from the bed in a swirl of pixels.

Armie closes his eyes,_ just for a minute, just while he cleans his teeth _—


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE NOTES:
> 
> This chapter contains overt religious parental homophobia directed at Armie. If that's something that will hurt you deeply or trigger you, please skip it. I have marked the relevant section with **~~~** at the beginning and end. I have included a very short summary of the section in the end notes. I have personally experienced parental homophobia, but an old atheist British man's expression of homophobia must necessarily be very different from that of an American fundamentalist Baptist woman. I hope that I have managed to do this justice all the same. 
> 
> As always, I hope that you are all doing okay, despite *gestures at 2020* everything. I am so grateful to you for being here, for reading, and for your kindness and generosity in commenting and leaving kudos. Stay safe. x

Timmy: **...how u feeling babe?**

Armie: **Ugh.**

Timmy: **u at work?**

Armie: **Yes. Regretting everything.**

Timmy: **ft had died by the time i woke up so i only saw a bit of u sleeping. the fucken cutest tho**

Armie: **Oh god yeah bet that was hot. Me drooling drunkenly**

Armie: **It wasn’t even that much wine? We split a bottle of red & had some champagne but that’s nothing compared to what I used to be able to drink**

Armie: **Getting old is fucking stupid**

Timmy: **so old**

Timmy: **the threshold of death tbh**

Armie: 🙄 **Literally how I feel today**

Timmy: **my poor babe.**

Armie: **I feel like you’re mocking me**

Timmy: 😀 **only a tiny bit **

Armie: **Sorry if I was a stupid drunk**

Timmy: **cutest**

Armie: **I doubt that** 🤦♂️

Timmy: **CUTEST**

*

Armie: **Really didn’t want to go to the gym today but…here I am**

Armie: **[image]**

Armie: **[image] **

Timmy: **ajsdhflk**

Timmy: **GOD**

Timmy: **WHY**

Timmy: **(thank u bb)**

*

Timmy: **friday is armie day** 🥰🥰

Armie: **About fucking time.**

Timmy: **did u sleep?**

Armie: **Yes. Did you?**

Timmy: **yeh. remember i need a salad update today. didn’t get 1 yesterday** 🥺

Armie: **Why are you dating me? …Questions I ask myself daily**

Timmy: **salad updates. just told u**

*

Armie:** [image]**

Armie: **Here. Satisfy your salad kink.**

Timmy: 🥵🥵

Armie: **Meetings, then gym. Am I picking you up from the bar later?**

Timmy: **nah not doing 2 nights in a row. take me home **

Armie: **[image]**

Armie: **I look like a gym douche taking pictures in the locker room. See you in a few xx**

Timmy: 🥵🥵🥵🥵

*

Livvy won’t stop whining to get to Archie, scratching at the bars of her crate. Archie responds in kind, pressing himself against the metal and making strangled little noises that could develop into barking if he gets any more wound up.

Armie turns around to talk to them, distract them, so he only notices Timmy once he’s already climbing into the passenger seat. 

“Babies sad?” Timmy asks, turning around to rub Livvy’s nose through the bars.

“All good,” says Armie, smiling. “She was trying to get to Arch. But now _ you’re _here…”

Timmy smiles. “These idiots. They’re so cute.” He strokes Livvy’s nose again, and she licks frantically at his fingers. 

_ Arch isn’t going to know what to do with himself when Livvy’s gone. _Armie pushes away the thought. Reaches over and squeezes Timmy’s knee. “Good show, baby?” 

Timmy nods. His eyes are dark-ringed, and Armie realizes that it’s leftover stage makeup which resisted the cleanser. 

“Weird atmosphere tonight.” Timmy runs his fingers across the back of Armie’s hand, then leans in to kiss him. “With the show, I mean. Kind of like last-night hysteria? But also kind of sad.” 

Armie cups Timmy’s chin, and pulls him back in for another kiss. “I made meatball lasagna.” 

“Oh shit. My day just got _ better. _ Take me the fuck home.”

*

Armie strokes his fingers slowly through Timmy’s curls. “What do you want for breakfast?” 

Timmy shakes his head, face smushed against Armie’s chest. “Might not.” 

“You need to eat. You have two shows, and you don’t always get lunch.” 

“Just…” Timmy swallows. He doesn’t look up. “Kind of nauseous.” 

Armie peers down at the top of his head. “Nervous?” 

Timmy half-shrugs. “Last show. Y’know.” 

“I’d’ve thought you’d be the _ least _nervous about this one,” Armie smiles.

“One last chance to fuck it up,” says Timmy, but he’s smiling too. Armie can hear it. “Well. Two last chances.”

“Can’t wait to see you act again.” Armie strokes Timmy’s cheek. “You’re amazing.” 

“Mmmmffff.” 

“Not helping?” 

“Mmmmffffff.” Timmy presses his face harder against Armie’s chest. “I kind of love that you’ll be there. You sneakily bought a ticket.”

“Wanted one last chance to get your autograph,” says Armie lightly. 

He doesn’t mean to make it sound so _ final. _

*

“I’ll drop you off,” says Armie, while they’re walking the puppies around the neighborhood. Archie’s pulling at the lead, so Armie stops and turns around for a few steps, making Archie come too. “Heel,” he insists, holding a treat to keep Archie at his side. “At the theater,” he adds, to Timmy.

“Babe, you can’t just drive me around all day.” 

“What if I _ like _being your driver?” 

“You’d look cute in a chauffeur cap.” 

“Okay, Miss Daisy.”

“I _ am _Jewish. Part-Jewish.” 

“Ha. Me too.” 

Timmy’s nose crinkles curiously. “Yeah?” 

“Russian Jewish.” 

“Huh.” Timmy smiles, hand lingering on Armie’s back for a second as he reaches down to wrench a crushed-up soda can from Livvy’s mouth. “Jesus Christ, why do people leave their trash _ everywhere?” _

Armie huffs wry agreement. “I know. Don’t think I even noticed before.” 

“We’re gonna have to train you on not picking this shit up, Livs.”

Sighing, Armie slips his arm around Timmy’s shoulders. “Arch’s ‘leave’ is just _ bad.” _He tugs Timmy closer, into a quick kiss, smiling when he feels Timmy smile. “What?” 

“I like this. I like that you kissed me.” Timmy shrugs. “That’s all.” 

“Feeling better?” asks Armie, as they start walking again. “Not so nauseous?”

“Better.” Timmy pulls Livs away from a slice of white bread, inexplicably in the center of the sidewalk. “Thanks for suggesting a walk.” 

“Good. Then I’m gonna make you eat breakfast.” Armie laughs as Timmy groans. Pulls him closer, by the waist. 

*

Timmy: **babe are you gonna dress up again to see my play**

Timmy: **i love that**

Armie: **Sure. And I’m just finishing my workout…**

Armie: **[image] **

Timmy: **jfc why do i look at these pictures just before going on stage**

Timmy: **what are the pups doing**

Armie: **Kong toys with cream cheese, carrot and treats in**

Timmy: **the buttplug lookin ones** 🤭

Armie: **yup...those**

Timmy: 🤐😬😬

Armie: **Maybe they’re also playing with the double dildo looking thing**

Timmy: **probably**

Timmy: **dog toys are weird** 😬

Armie: **They really are. **

Timmy: **send me a salad pic bb **

Armie: **You’re weird. You’re a weird dude. **

Timmy: **i admire all your facets babe. Even the salady ones**

Armie: **Promise me you’ll get food between your shows.**

Timmy:** i’ll try** 💜

Timmy: **so i have a question + i’m a coward so i’m asking u via text**

Armie: **…OK…**

Timmy: **do u still feel ok about telling ur ex about me?**

Armie: **God, why? She hasn’t followed you on IG or something has she? I don’t think I told her your name but I wouldn’t put it past her**

Timmy: **we don’t even follow each other armie. + no she hasn’t followed me**

Timmy:** idk i just feel like it must’ve been kind of a big thing? u were with her 8 years **

Armie: **I was nervous I guess but…I don’t want to pretend**

Armie: **I didn’t plan it. It just felt right in the moment**

Armie: **She wouldn’t have been my first choice of people to tell sober**

Armie: **But** 🤷 **no regrets **

Timmy: **confession time. i was rly nervous for u to see her**

Armie: **Why??!**

Timmy: **in case u realized ur passionately in love w her after all, of course** 😅 

Armie: **Ridiculous. There’s no contest between her and you. Never has been. I broke up with her before I even met you remember. And now I HAVE met you…no. Definitely no contest.**

Timmy: **ok guess i’ll just die** 😳

Armie: **Ha. Just…no, baby.**

Timmy: **ack i have to go be on stage **

Timmy: **tell me ur near the front tonight**

Armie: **First few rows. But on the end of a row. In a (vain) attempt not to be too tall.**

Timmy: **ridiculous. you are the perfect height **

Armie: **Now I know you’re hallucinating from hunger. **

Timmy: 🙄** still can’t take a compliment**

Armie: **Go shine, baby.**

*

Armie texts with Saoirse about next weekend’s leaving party, trying to figure out if there’s anyone integral they’ve forgotten to invite. So far, pretty much all the invited cast and crew have said yes, barring last-minute childcare fails. Armie gets the impression from the text group that they all rate Timmy highly, and want to say goodbye to him in style—as well as looking forward to having an excuse to get together for wrap party part two. 

Saoirse also ran into a couple of girls that Timmy used to hang out with before Léo’s cheating made him pull back from everyone he’d met in LA connected with his ex. She’s considering asking them along, assuring Armie that they really weren’t that friendly with Léo, and definitely had no idea what he was doing to Timmy. 

Armie also texts Tyler. 

Armie: **Did you and Jacs see T’s play in the end? Hope you’re all good**

Tyler: **Yes last night! Been meaning to text you all morning but the kids are rioting**

Tyler: **he’s good, brother. Really really good **

Armie: **You didn’t tell him you were going? **

Tyler: **no knew he’d get us free tickets but we wanted to support the theater**

Armie: **Ha. Same**

Tyler: **Going tonight? **

Armie: **Of course. Final show.**

Tyler: **Have u told him yet? **

Armie sees the message but doesn’t reply, absently playing left-handed tug with Archie. Livvy headbutts the other puppy in the side, snatching at his curly ears. Archie tries to balance his obsession with the tug toy with his wish to play-fight Livs, occasionally letting go to snap at her, but always grabbing for the toy again directly after. 

Tyler: **Brother how long does he have left in LA? A week? **

Armie still doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say. 

Tyler: **Speak up man. Don’t regret it**

*

Armie looks again at the acting class bookmarks he’d made. Reads the description of each class, and tries to imagine himself—_ letting go, _ like that. Letting himself fall into a new way of being, a new means of self-expression. 

Oddly, it’s the other things that are easier to imagine. The bigger things, the life changes. 

_ An apartment in NYC. Somewhere big enough for Timmy to stay over, whenever— _ if _ he wanted to. _

_ Big enough for Arch and Livvy to romp around, when they’ve got the crazies. _

_ Or just Arch, if— _

_ If Timmy actually doesn’t want to be with some repressed guy a decade older than him, once he’s back in his own environment, with his friends and family. _

_ Which is totally a possibility. _

_ Probability. _

Restlessly, Armie closes all the tabs, and shoves his laptop shut. 

_ But if he did want to date, still— _

_ Meeting his friends. _

_ Meeting his family. _

Armie’s stomach squirms at the thought. 

_ He said they’re not homophobic, but that doesn’t mean they’ll like me. Or think that Timmy should be with someone so much older. _

_ Maybe they loved Léo. _

_ Maybe they think Timmy should concentrate on his career, not get sidetracked into another relationship— _

Impatiently, Armie stands up and puts the laptop away, up on a shelf where the puppies can’t get intrigued and start chewing on it. 

_ Do they know what Léo did to him? _

_ Do they know about—me? _

Armie’s heart knots in his chest. He starts a boisterous game of fetch with the puppies, just to avoid thinking anymore. 

*

He drops the puppies off at Lena’s in plenty of time. Too early, probably, but he doesn’t want to accidentally be late to the theater.

Lena’s daughter answers the door, delighted to see the puppies; she and they disappear inside with much giggling and shrieking. 

“She loves having them both here,” smiles Lena. “You said Livvy’s a friend’s puppy, right?” 

“My boyfriend’s,” says Armie, before he thinks about it. He takes a breath, surprised. Opens his mouth to correct himself, then closes it again. 

_ Timmy’ll never know. _

He gives himself this, just for now. 

The corners of Lena’s eyes crinkle. “Dressed up fancy. Going out?” Her eyes flick to the car, like she expects to see Timmy waiting. 

“Theater. He’s—in a play.” 

“Oh, nice.” She turns her head towards another round of giggles and a small crash from inside the house. “Better see what the gang are up to,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Have a good night. I’ll leave them in their crates, later.” 

Armie nods, heading for the car. “Thank you,” he calls, over his shoulder.

*

Armie cries through the whole of Timmy’s last monologue, silent tears trickling down his cheeks. Pressing his fingers to his lips, he manages to keep his breathing as even as possible. He doesn’t dare wipe his eyes. It would be too noticeable. 

He waits for Timmy by the stage door afterwards, with a new program and a pen he brought from home. His eyes feel dry and tired, and he wonders if his face is blotched with the aftermath of tears. A few other people come out of the stage door, presumably some of the cast and crew. They cast him quick, curious glances as they pass.

“Hey,” he says, when Timmy steps out. Too brightly; it sounds false. 

“Hey.” Timmy doesn’t stop moving, stepping immediately into Armie’s space, pressing his face to the center of his chest. “’M’glad you’re here,” he mumbles quietly, and Armie hears sadness mixed with the post-show adrenaline. 

“You were amazing.” Armie closes his eyes. Strokes Timmy’s back, his hair, the nape of his neck. “So fucking amazing. I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Can’t believe it’s over.” Timmy sighs, burying his face in Armie’s neck. “Thought I’d never—get through it, when—and then _ you—” _ he takes a breath, then another, seeming to compose himself. “Guess I need to head over to the bar, but I kind of just feel like going home with you.” 

Armie pulls Timmy gently away from his chest. “No way. You’re going to your party, and you’re going to fucking _ celebrate.” _

Timmy turns his face up, and Armie leans down to kiss him.

“I’ll walk you over there,” he offers. “Give you a minute to breathe.” 

Timmy nods, and rests his forehead against Armie’s.

“Need an autograph first though,” says Armie, touching the program to Timmy’s chest in the narrow space between them. “And I guess at this point I’m just _ expecting _not to get the pen back.” 

Timmy closes his eyes; snorts a little laugh, heavy-laden with emotion. 

*

“Shhhhh,” giggles Timmy, as they close the apartment door behind them. “The babies are _ sleeping _—” 

Armie laughs, quietly. “You’re not being the sneakiest, right now, Tim. I know that’s hard to believe, when you’re trying _ so hard.” _

Timmy loses it, giggling against Armie’s chest. Reaches up, wide, and clings around his shoulders, his neck. “Am I being loud?” 

“You are being a bit loud, yes baby.” 

“You know how I’d be _ even louder?” _he whispers. 

“I think I can guess, but you say.” Armie manoeuvres him towards the bedroom. Livvy whines quietly in her crate, wanting to come and greet Timmy. 

“If you fucked me,” Timmy confides, turning around as they reach the bedroom doorway. His eyes are dark. He licks his lips, stained dusky wine-red. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Armie’s breath catches. He reaches out, and cups Timmy’s cheek. Doesn’t want to hurt him, ever. Hesitating, he says gently, “I—I don’t think I can, baby. Not—not tonight.” 

Usually, Timmy is so quick to understand what Armie’s feeling. Tonight, he scrunches up his nose. “I’m very, very consenting, Armie. _ Very _consenting. Enthusiastic—consenting. Enthusiastically. That. Ergo, you should fuck me.” 

He’s so cute that Armie can’t help grinning, and leaning in to kiss him deeply. Timmy falls into him, humming satisfaction. 

“Ergo, huh?” 

Timmy giggles. “Yeah. Ergo.” 

“I just—in the morning, okay, T?” he asks, cupping Timmy’s jaw, stroking his wine-flushed cheek.

“Have I ever _ not _ been very very consenting, Armie? With you? Because, no. No I haven’t. Because you’re _ hot. _Very very very hot.” 

Armie steers him back a couple steps, and closes the bedroom door behind them. “It’s not really that, baby, I trust that you…I just.” He takes a breath, and steels himself to explain. “We’ve only done it once, and I—need a bit more time, I think. To know I’m not—hurting you. And when you’re drunk and feeling no pain…” he kisses Timmy’s nose, “…that’s not exactly the time. For that.” He seeks out understanding in Timmy’s expression. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

Timmy shakes his head, emphatically. “No no no Armie _ I’m _ sorry.” Contrite now, eyes wide, he looks so _ young. _“I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey.” Armie pinches Timmy’s sharp little chin between thumb and forefinger. “Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He brushes a kiss to those bruised-looking lips. “There’s something else I could do, if you wanted.” 

Timmy’s eyes darken with interest and excitement. “Yeah? What?” 

Armie grins. He guides Timmy to sit down on the edge of the bed, then steps back. “Get undressed. I’m going to get you water.” 

“You made it sound a _ lot _sexier than just—making me drink water.” Obediently, Timmy’s fighting his way out of his sweater. 

“Patience, Hal. Patience,” smiles Armie, heading for the door. 

*

“Oh, _ fuck, _ Armie, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—babe—” Timmy’s hand tightens on the sheet, linen a white knot in his grasp. “Holy _ shit, Armie _—” 

Armie digs his fingernails lightly into Timmy’s buttocks, grinning as he raises his head. “And here I didn’t know if I’d do it right—”

“Jesus fucking fuck,” mumbles Timmy. He rolls his hips, thigh and ass muscles tense. “Please—_ please—” _

Armie bends his head again, and licks firmly across Timmy’s hole; makes sure his stubble teases the sensitive skin. Resumes the rhythm he’d built up, spreading Timmy’s cheeks, fingers pressed tight into the meat of his ass. 

“I really can’t—Armie, I’m gonna come, I’m—”

“Come for me then,” rasps Armie. “You need my hand?” 

“N-no—” breathes Timmy. He rolls his hips for friction once and then he’s groaning, shaking, crying out something broken that could be the _ ar _ — of _ Armie— _

And afterwards Timmy is soft, and sleepy, and sweet. He reaches out for Armie, for kisses, to touch him, suck him, _ reciprocate. _

Armie’s heart aches with love and gratitude and need. He catches Timmy’s hand. “In the morning, baby, in the morning—”

“But you can’t sleep like this…” Timmy’s eyes are heavy-lidded golden green. “You _ liked _ it,” he adds, in a wondering whisper. “Licking me.”

“Of course I did.” Armie half-shakes his head, smiling. “C’mon. Teeth. And finishing your glass of water.” 

Timmy groans. “But…”

Laughing, Armie drags him up, and steers him to the bathroom. 

*

In the morning, Armie wakes with a start. His phone’s vibrating on the nightstand, and he realizes he must be late to take Archie and Livs out to pee. Timmy is spooning him, a warm, comforting weight at his back. 

Armie does the trip out on autopilot; clears up after the puppies, then walks them back upstairs and gives them half their breakfast. Intercepts their attempt to head for his bedroom. “Uh, no. I don’t think so. He’s got a few more hours of sleep in him yet.” 

The puppies are bouncing with pent-up energy. Armie manages a chaotic game of fetch with them, which takes the edge off a little. Then Archie begs for tug, and by the time Armie’s played that with them too, he’s fully awake. 

Once they’re panting, tired, and play-fighting desultorily over a rope toy, Armie heads for the shower.

Timmy is a chaotic bundle of curls on the pillow, duvet heaped over him. Armie remembers that age at college: drinking until the small hours, then sleeping it off all day. Attending lectures still half-drunk in ratty sweats and a hoodie, with the tinny taste of alcohol and toothpaste on your tongue. Still able—somehow—to go out and do it all again the next night. 

In the shower, he resists dealing with his morning erection; wants to wait, stay in this hazy, half-aroused state. Wants to take Timmy to brunch; watch him mainline coffee and recover over Nutella-laden pancakes. Bring him home, and back to bed. Fuck him, slowly. Nap the afternoon away. 

While Armie’s pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, Timmy stirs; groans, and pulls the duvet further up, hiding even more of his curls. Armie huffs a little laugh, but doesn’t engage. 

“Why’re you gone?” mumbles Timmy after a minute, from beneath the covers. 

“Puppies had to pee, and then they had to play, and then I was awake.” Armie sits on the edge of the bed nearest the door. He doesn’t pull the duvet down; lets Timmy have his cave. “Go back to sleep.” 

Timmy groans again. “Have to pee.” 

“Okay, well get up and do that. _ Then _go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in time to head to brunch.” 

“You made me drink all that water.” 

Armie laughs. He can’t suppress his grin. “You’re cute the morning after. Cranky, but cute.”

“You only think that ’cause you can’t see me.” 

“I’m gonna go make coffee. Go to sleep.” 

In the kitchen, Armie sets the coffee brewing, and gives Archie and Livs more breakfast. Reads the news on his phone, kicking the ball for the puppies whenever they’ll actually drop it. 

He’s just poured a cup of coffee and is reaching into the fridge for the milk when there’s a knock at the door. Armie looks around, surprised, then frowns. _ A neighbor? Who else would be able to get into the building? _He hasn’t given a set of keys to anyone except Timmy, Lena, and Nick, and there’s no reason Nick would be here now without texting first to say he was coming over. Still, it’s possible. Armie puts down his coffee and heads to open the door. 

**~~~**

It’s his mom. 

Realization jolts through him, adrenaline kicking in faster than any coherent thought has time to form. A swoop of fear in the pit of his stomach; a sick, slow resolve like foamy water at the shore. “Mom.” He hadn’t meant to speak. 

“I got sick of calling,” she says, sweetly. Leans in, up, to kiss him on the cheek. “Your lovely neighbor let me in.” 

_ But you didn’t even try the buzzer for my apartment, did you, which means this really is an ambush. _Anger knots itself in his shoulders, splays hot fingers across his scalp. 

“Oh now who are _ these?” _she says, and then she’s stepping past him, bending over to meet the puppies. Laughing at their frantic wriggling, recoiling slightly when they bounce. 

“If you keep pulling your hand away like that—” says Armie. _ Of course they keep jumping up at you when they think you’ve got a treat in your hand. _He checks himself. Closes the door. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. In the end, he pushes them into the pockets of his jeans. 

“I had no idea you’d bought _ dogs,” _his mom says. “Should they really be kept in an apartment? Labradors are big.” 

_ Livvy won’t be here. _Armie swallows. Looks away. “They’re fine.” 

_ Liar. You’re a liar. You just don’t want to admit that that’s your boyfriend’s dog— _

_ Coward. _

“You could buy a house. Somewhere with a yard, where they could actually run around.” 

_ Somewhere with a yard, and a pool, plenty of room to play for dogs and kids—I know what you really mean, Mom. Give me a break. _

“I didn’t know you were in town.” 

“Well, you never check your phone. Or your messages. Or your texts, even though I see you online all the time. Or your email.” 

Armie, trapped, feels a hot wave of embarrassment and annoyance roll through him. _ Sorry, _he ought to say. He doesn’t. 

“Coffee?” he asks, instead, and all the time his brain is running to Timmy, still in bed. _ Please god, let him still be in bed. Please let him stay there, let him just sleep and I’ll get her to leave and she doesn’t have to know— _

He swallows. Hates himself for the thought. 

“Please. Just a _ tiny _splash of cream.” She knows he won’t have cream, only milk. She expects to be told, though, and to have a chance to object. 

Armie doesn’t bother; just pours her coffee with a bit of milk. Puts it on the counter in front of her. 

“You put them in cages?” she asks, as she takes her first sip. 

“Crates,” he returns. He’s holding his own coffee, but he couldn’t force it down if he tried. The warmth of it in his palm is comforting. “It gives them a sense of security. Somewhere to retreat to.” 

She raises an eyebrow, and smiles. “Stops them chewing the furniture.” 

Armie returns the smile, mechanically. “Don’t look at the corner of the rug, near the TV.” 

“What are their names?” She regards them with a detached kind of curiosity as they sniff her feet and legs. 

“Archie and Livvy. Olivia.” He remembers Timmy saying it, that first evening at puppy class. Remembers watching his lips form the word. 

“Olivia,” she muses. “Why?” 

Armie looks away. “For—de Havilland. The actress.” He’d asked Timmy about it once. Timmy and Léo had named her together. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his mom’s eyebrow tick up again. 

There’s something wrong, he can tell; and he waits, frozen, to find out what she’s really here for.

“Well,” she says, after another sip of coffee. “It’s a good thing your friends and your fiancée still talk to me. Since _ you _don’t.” 

Anger flares dully in Armie’s belly. “She’s not my fiancée, Mom.” 

“Hmm.” She doesn’t quite roll her eyes, but the start of the movement is there. “She won’t be, unless you straighten yourself out.”

Armie’s surprised by the steadiness of his own voice. “No, she isn't. And she hasn’t been for months. Since I told her our relationship was over.” His fingers are cold, he realizes. Icy against the lingering warmth of the coffee mug. 

His mom puts her mug down on the counter with a neat little _ clink. _ “You have an opportunity,” she says. She sounds calm, but he recognizes this tone; it hides a roiling fury that she regards as ungodly. It might stop her from getting into Heaven if she let it out. “To apologise for all this—” her gaze takes in the apartment, and fear leaps in Armie’s stomach as he wonders if she’s seen any of Timmy’s things, _ “—mess. _ The mess you’ve made.” 

Armie wants to laugh. His throat is tight with anger. “There is no mess,” he says, and his voice is low. Shaking slightly. “The only _ mess _ was you, pretending to Liz that there was any future in our relationship when I clearly—clearly—told her there wasn’t.” He swallows, and speaks again, even though his mom is opening her mouth to respond. “And I’ve put a stop to it. I saw her. Told her it’s not happening. Told her _ again, _ because of you, even though I shouldn’t’ve fucking _ had _to—” 

Her face twists immediately, sour with disapproval. “Language.” 

Armie smiles, and gives a bitter huff of laughter. “Oh, yes. _ You _ can do whatever you want but _ God knows, _I can’t curse.” 

Her expression freezes, narrow-eyed. “Do not—”

Armie rolls his eyes. Looks away, unable to bear it. 

“This isn’t the life you want.” She says it clearly, with that well-remembered, infuriatingly calm conviction. It makes Armie want to punch something, or just _ leave. _

And it’s absurd; all of this is absurd. Armie feels almost high on the stupidity of it all. “How,” he says, half-laughing, “could you _ possibly _know that?” 

She doesn’t answer the question. “Trust me.” Her eyes are fixed steadily on his, lashes spiky with mascara. “This isn’t what you want.” Her eyebrows are overplucked, and the light pink metallic lipstick on her wrinkled lips looks strange. Out of place.

And there, again, is the sick pang of fear in Armie’s stomach. It spreads slowly through his legs, too, weakening his knees. He puts one hand flat on the counter. “I know better than you what I want.” 

She gives that little smile that reserves judgement. That withholds. That means: _ God and I know better, honey. _

_ Because God’s always on her side. _

“You need to stop this.” Her hands flatten on the counter, knuckles prominent, fingers gnarled with age despite the expensiveness of the manicured nails at their tips. 

Armie swallows. “Stop what? Living my life the way I want?” There’s something else, he can _ feel _it. He waits, warily. 

“Your life is not only for you,” she says, and Armie despises her pretence of gentleness. “It’s for Him, too.” 

And for a second, Armie can’t make the connection; thinks only of Timmy. When it hits him, he looks away, trying not to let his impatience and contempt show. It’s just like every argument in his teenage years. _ Be good. Be good for me. Be good for God. God moves through me. We are one and the same. _

“What makes you think I _ can’t _be living my life as—” Armie pauses, hating that he’s engaging with her on these terms, “—God would want?” 

“Oh, honey, you’re not.” The half-shake of her head indicates sadness. Willingness to guide a lost sheep back to the fold. “If what Elizabeth told me is true—”

Inside, Armie wonders quite calmly what his face is doing right now. He’s numb, suddenly; feels the adrenaline thrill through him, but only distantly, as if it’s happening to someone else. His hands are still cold. 

“You can’t continue on this path,” she says, kindly. “This is not what He wants for you. He wants the very best for you.” 

_ The very best. _ The words catch and reverberate in Armie’s brain. _ He wants the very best for you. _He can’t speak. 

“I’m here for you, honey.” She leans across the counter, reaching out to touch him. “I can help you. Guide you through this.” 

Armie snatches his hand away so fast that the lukewarm coffee in the mug he’s holding pitches and rolls, threatens to spill. He gasps in a breath. Puts the mug down. He’s shaking. 

“I don’t want to be _ guided through this.” _ He manages the words, though they’re strangled-sounding. “Who I—love is none of your business. It’s none of God’s business.” 

“Love is between a man and a woman, Armie. I brought you up to know that.” She pauses, takes a breath. Corrects her tone. “You’ve lost your way, and this isn’t the path He wants for you.” 

Armie’s cold. He’s so cold, all over. He smiles coldly. “So you’ll save me, and then I’ll marry Liz and have children and represent _ the family _ at events. How convenient that what God wants is also what _ you _ want. It always was, wasn’t it, Mom?” He swallows. “Don’t want to do your homework? Too bad, God wants you to do your homework. Don’t want to move to LA? Too bad, the tax laws have changed and now God mysteriously wants you to move there. Want to do a job you actually enjoy and find rewarding? God doesn’t want that for you, it’s not your _ path, _ it might make you _ gay.” _ Armie spits the word. “Guess what, Mom? If you’re gay, being a investment advisor _ doesn’t save you from it.” _

“You’re not—a homosexual.” She’s so calm. “Don’t say things like that.” 

Armie braces his hands on the counter; turns his head away. Closes his eyes and lets himself laugh. “Yup,” he says, at last. “The worst possible thing your son could tell you. That he finally figured out who he loves.” 

“That’s not love.” She sounds close to snapping, now. “You’ll be my son when you see the light.” 

Armie lets his head hang. He’s still so cold, but his chest burns with fury. “Isn’t it funny how God has so much to do with money?” he asks, looking up. Her hard, dark-rimmed eyes make him want to recoil, but he holds her gaze. “When I was sixteen, and I wanted to choose my own career, God didn’t want that, and God held the purse strings, didn’t he? Through you and Dad. And I was too much of a fucking coward to just—try, on my own.” His voice is shaking, and he hates the sound of his own weakness. “Thing is, Mom, _ I have my own money now. _ There’s actually nothing you and God can do to get a hold of it.” He shrugs, and laughs. “So please. Take your ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ _ bullshit, _and get out.” 

“Oh, Armie.” Her eyes are cold, but her tone is compassionate. “I’ll be waiting for you. _ He’ll _be waiting for you. He knows you.” 

“Get. Out.” He clenches his teeth. He doesn’t want to shout. Part of him still hopes Timmy’s asleep, safe from this. Crouching down, he hooks a finger through each of the puppies’ collars. “I mean it. Leave.” 

Everything is too _ normal. _The puppies are squirming good-naturedly to be free; they want to follow the guest to the door. His mom hooks her purse over her arm in exactly the same way she always has. She even pauses to put her sunglasses on before she closes the door behind her. It’s like they just had a completely different conversation. 

When the door is closed, Armie lets go of the puppies’ collars. They skitter curiously over to the door even though the visitor has already gone. Armie stands, and picks up his coffee mug. Pours the cold coffee down the sink, and sets the mug on the side for washing. 

His hands are still shaking. He can’t bring himself to touch his mom’s mug. He knows there’ll be traces of her lipstick on it.

There’s a noise that sounds like coughing, from the bedroom. Closing his eyes, Armie braces his hands against the cool metal edge of the sink. Wonders how much he has to explain. _ Liz told my mom. She came by. She wasn’t pleased. _

_ She and God weren’t pleased. _

There’s fear again now, in the pit of his stomach; useless, belated adrenaline seething through him. He’s numb, though. Exhausted. Most of all, he just wants to sleep.

Another coughing sound, and this time Armie frowns. Heads for the bedroom. _ Is he getting sick? He was fine when— _he shuts the bedroom door carefully behind himself, to keep the puppies out. 

“Shit.” Timmy’s kneeling on the bathroom floor, wiping his mouth with the back of a shaking hand. “Don’t, I’m—” he holds up a hand like he wants Armie not to look, then leans over again. Retches. “Ugh, _ fuck,” _he mutters, when he’s done. Reaches out and flushes the toilet, then stands up. His eyes are wide, stark and red-rimmed in the chalk white of his face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” 

Armie’s so numb he knows he must just be staring stupidly, but the only thought in his head is _ why are you sorry, what on earth do you have to be sorry for— _

“Fuck,” he says at last, taking a step forward. “Tim—are you—are you okay? What’s—” _ is his hangover really that bad? I didn’t know _—

Timmy takes a step back, toward the sink. Leans down and drinks from the faucet, washing out his mouth. “Sorry, I just—I really fucking _ hate _throwing up.” He takes a capful of mouthwash and washes it around, spitting it away into the swirling water.

Armie reaches him, and rubs his back. “You need anything? I can get you a—a glass of ice water, or…” he can’t think properly. He’s so _ tired. _

“Jesus Christ. Armie.” Timmy turns, now, and puts his hands on Armie’s face. He’s still deadly pale. “I—fuck. I heard—what your mom said.” 

Armie freezes. Looks down, away. “Oh.” 

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hear, I just—was coming to get coffee, and—”

Closing his eyes, Armie shakes his head. “It’s—it’s okay. It’s not your fault. None of it is.” 

“Come to bed.” Timmy’s hands are in his, leading him to the bed, urging him down, pulling the duvet over them both. 

“It’s okay,” says Armie, tiredly, into the quiet between them. Then, “Liz told her.” 

“I heard.” Timmy’s eyes are fierce for a moment, but he takes a breath and puts whatever he was thinking away. “I’m—I’m so _ useless, _ Armie, I don’t _ know _anyone with parents like this—” He says it helplessly. 

Armie clings to Timmy’s hand, threading their fingers together. There are tears pooling on his nose, now, but he doesn’t remember having started to cry. His throat is tight, sore. 

“It’s okay,” he says, again. “You’re—helping.” 

“It’s not okay.” Timmy’s hand is on Armie’s jaw. “Baby, it’s—I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You deserve a million times better than that, you deserve everything. Everything in the fucking world.” 

_ He wants the very best for you. _

Armie presses his lips together; half-shakes his head. More tears leak from beneath his closed eyelids. He can’t speak, now. 

He cries silently until his eyes are hot and painful. Timmy holds him, quietly. Occasionally wipes away his tears. 

“It was always…” says Armie, in the end, “—like that. I mean they _ never _ implied that Vik or I could be gay, but…” he licks his lips, tasting salt. “It was—at Church. The AIDS crisis, you know. Our pastor, he loved that. Really fucking—mined it for sermons. I didn’t even know what fucking AIDS _ was,” _he laughs, wetly. “But by the time I was…I guess, seven? I knew it was something dirty. Shameful. Hushed voices, and…and they deserved it. The people who had it. A judgement. He said that. And—my mom thought so too. I’d hear her say it, with her friends. With my Dad.” 

Timmy doesn’t speak; just strokes an arc across Armie’s cheek with his thumb. Back and forth, a slow comforting rhythm. His eyes are hazel, soft. There are traces of tears caught in his lashes. 

Armie sighs, and closes his eyes. Concentrates on the warmth of Timmy’s hand; the long, slow, unending sweep of his caress. 

He falls asleep. 

*

**~~~**

Timmy wakes him in the early afternoon. Puts a mug of coffee on the nightstand, and kisses him on the nose. “Hey, babe.” 

Armie’s tired still, full of the kind of calm that comes with having cried for a long time. His face feels tight, his eyes still sore. He smiles. “Hey.” 

There are noises from the kitchen; what sounds like something metal hitting the counter or the floor. Voices. Armie frowns. “Are—the puppies okay?” 

Timmy bites his lip. “I—I hope you don’t mind,” he says, cautiously. “But I—texted Tyler. Well, I followed him on Instagram, and he followed back, and…” he takes a quick breath, and his words tumble together. “I didn’t tell him anything, any details, I just—I said your mom was here, and he—he got that it had been bad, and he said they were coming over. And I just—I hope it’s okay.” 

Armie blinks. Examines his feelings, and finds that yes, it’s okay. He pushes back the duvet, and hauls himself up to sit. “It’s totally okay,” he says, gently. His voice sounds a little rough. Reaching out, he lays his hand on Timmy’s knee. “Thank you.” 

Relief writes itself in the way Timmy’s eyebrows pull together. He leans in, then checks himself. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Please.” Armie touches his jaw. _ Oh, fuck. Please don’t think I don’t want that. _Pulls Timmy in and kisses him lightly. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” 

Timmy nods, and stands up. Strokes Armie’s hair, then gently massages his temple with the pad of his thumb. “We’re making pizzas. You might want to hurry if you want any pepperoni on yours. Tyler’s got plans for it _ all.” _

Armie shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Huh. Right, okay. The kids are here?” 

“Yeah, and Jacquie’s doing an amazing job herding them and the puppies.” 

In the bathroom, Armie washes his face in cold water; pees, and brushes his teeth. Takes a breath. 

When he emerges into the kitchen, there’s a chorus of welcome; the puppies bound over, and Vi totters after them, clinging to his leg as she pats Archie vigorously on the back. Jacquie gives him a glancing kiss as she swoops down to grab her daughter, who protests at being pulled away from the dogs. River waves from a kitchen stool, where he’s perched next to Timmy. They’re spreading tomato sauce across several pizza bases, swirling patterns then smoothing them over. An impassioned discussion about the pros and cons of mushrooms on pizza seems to be taking place. 

Tyler hugs Armie, hard, and Armie holds on for longer than he usually would. 

“Guess I’m gonna have to share my pepperoni now _ you’re _here, brother,” says Tyler, when they pull apart. He rolls his eyes. “This lot weren’t putting up a fight.”

Armie grins. “I see you. And yeah, I want some fu—udging pepperoni,” he says. 

Timmy turns around and gives him a grin. “Hey. I’ve had to talk about _ sh—ugar _ a lot already.” 

“We know what you really mean,” says River, tiredly. “Dad said it when he dropped a tin of paint on his toe and his toenail went black and in the end it fell off.” 

Everyone laughs, and Armie steps up behind Timmy at the counter. Wraps his arms across Timmy’s chest, and rests his lips against the pale warmth of his neck, just at the collar of his t-shirt, which is also Armie’s t-shirt. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “And I’m sorry about brunch.” 

Timmy shakes his head. Turns to brush his lips across Armie’s temple. “This is better, babe. I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY OF CONTENT: Dru Hammer believes that Armie has strayed from God's path. She offers to guide him back. Armie refuses, and asks her to leave. He finds Timmy, deeply upset and hungover, being sick in the bathroom. Timmy comforts him and listens to him talk about the presence of vicious homophobia in his childhood. Armie falls asleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Armie wakes just before five on Monday morning. Timmy is curled around him, hand heavy on his hip. Armie is full of a dragging kind of tiredness, but also absolutely certain that he won’t be able to fall back asleep. 

Quietly, Armie detaches himself from Timmy’s embrace; dresses in the cool half-light filtering through the blinds. Takes the puppies for a trip downstairs, then gives them some breakfast. 

As he unloads the evidence of yesterday’s pizza party from the dishwasher, Armie can’t quite believe it was just yesterday morning that his mom was here. 

The day divides itself easily into two distinct periods. The morning _ —telling Mom I’m queer,  _ and the words still don’t quite feel real—and the afternoon, with the kids and the puppies, with pepperoni pizza and Tyler and Jacs, with a singalong to  _ Moana,  _ and Timmy holding him close and safe as the movie played. 

And, later in the evening—while Tyler and Jacs were collecting the kids and all their stuff, while they were offering to wash up and Armie was waving them away, already loading things into the dishwasher—Timmy disappearing into the bedroom because his mom was calling. He’d emerged fifteen minutes later with red-rimmed eyes and a more settled demeanor, and Armie had tried and failed to imagine being happier, more settled, after a phone call with his mom. Finding peace rather than pain in their interactions. 

_ She knows. My mom knows.  _ It’s still not sinking in.

He lets the puppies follow him to the home office, and spends the next few minutes telling them not to chew  _ everything  _ as they sniff at things while his laptop boots up. 

He logs in to all the systems and emails his boss; says that he’s not feeling well, but that he’ll work at home today. Books the rest of the week off as vacation days, because honestly he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.  _ This time next week Timmy will be leaving— _

He texts Lena to let her know that the plan’s changed for today. For a while he loses himself in work, as much as is possible with two hyperactive puppies in the room. 

When the door pushes open, the puppies start bouncing with sheer joy and excitement, then throw themselves on Timmy. 

“Fuck—didn’t think this through—” laughs Timmy. “Ow—Livs,  _ claws,  _ shit—” 

Armie swivels his chair around and laughs. “Puppies and naked legs. Not the best combination.” 

“Didn’t know you were working at home today.” Timmy’s wearing boxers, socks, and Armie’s sweater. His curls are a fluffy mess. He pets both the puppies’ ears, then steps closer and folds himself into Armie’s lap. Rubs the tips of their noses together. Frowns when Armie tries to kiss him. “’V’got morning breath.” 

“Hey, so’ve I.” Armie grins when Timmy pouts. Kisses him with closed lips. “Haven’t had breakfast. Forgot to make coffee.” 

“Oh, my brave soldier in the trenches of investment advis— advis…orship? Advise…ment?” Timmy frowns, cocking his head to one side. 

“Sarcastic little fucker.” Armie slides his hand up Timmy’s thigh, and smiles as Timmy laughs. “Coffee?” 

Timmy nods. 

While they wait in the kitchen for the coffee to brew, Armie combs his fingers through Timmy’s hair, watching the way it makes his eyelashes flutter, the way he leans into the touch. He takes a breath. “I—figured you have a lot of packing to do?” 

Timmy catches Armie’s gaze and his eyelashes flutter again. Surprise shows in the quick parting of his lips, the widening of his eyes. “Uh—yeah.” He hesitates. “I mean, the furniture came with the apartment so I don’t have to worry about that but I have, like, a bunch of cases to pack, and I’ll probably donate some books, maybe some clothes—uh, there’s one bookshelf we had to buy when we—" his expression tightens with the same reluctance he always shows when he accidentally speaks about Léo, "—that Saoirse said she could use? Uh…I guess maybe some of Livs’ toys that I—I can just leave for Archie…” he trails off, staring absently at Armie’s shoulder. “And I have to clean everything. For the—to get my deposit back. So. Uh. Yeah. It’ll be—kind of busy.” 

Armie swallows. His heart is beating fast.  _ We’re talking about this. Oh, Christ.  _ “I—had some vacation I needed to use. So I figured I could—take this week. If.” 

_ Okay, not talking about it coherently, but—trying.  _

Timmy looks up at him quickly; blinks, and bites his bottom lip against a smile. “Oh. Uh—yeah, that’d be—if you—yeah.” Then he frowns. “But—you don’t want to spend your vacation days packing shit and cleaning my apartment—” 

“Who said  _ anything  _ about cleaning your apartment—”

Timmy shoves Armie lightly in the chest. “Asshole.” 

Smiling, Armie rests his palm against Timmy’s neck. Strokes his thumb lightly under Timmy’s chin, following the delicate line of his jaw. “I figured we could go to brunch tomorrow, maybe. Make up for—” he swallows, and looks down, away. 

Timmy presses in close, puts his lips to the center of Armie’s chest in a half-kiss. “Yes.” Then, “you have to be visible on Teams at work today, right?” 

Armie nods, and glances over at the coffee. “Yup. I’ll go back soon. Take my coffee with me. Why?” 

Timmy grins up at him, and catches his eye. “Nothing.” His cheeks tint pink.

“Hmm.” Armie can’t help grinning too. “Nothing?” 

“Maybe  _ something.” _ Timmy’s hands sneak down into the back pockets of Armie’s jeans. “Can I use your tub?” 

“You know you can.” 

“Mmm.” Timmy rests his head on Armie’s chest. “You going to the gym later?” 

“Thought I would.” Armie nods. “Lena can take Arch though, so you don’t need to—”

“I want to,” says Timmy firmly. “Definitely.” 

Reluctantly, Armie heads back to work, coffee in hand. The puppies stay with Tim, giving him pleading eyes to try and induce him to hand over his breakfast. 

“Don’t you want to eat?” asks Timmy, looking up just as Armie’s shutting the door. 

“Coffee first.” Armie smiles. “Got a couple emails to send.”

A while later, he hears Timmy playing fetch with the puppies, then taking them outside. Water running, and the sound of the tub filling. 

Timmy pokes his head around the door, chaotic curls and a grin. “You good, babe?” 

“Mm.” Armie turns his chair around and pats his knee in invitation. “Yup.” 

“Uh—” Timmy hesitates, looking over at the window. “I’m—”

_ Oh.  _ Armie can’t help smiling. He stands up and walks into the corridor. Kisses pale, naked Timmy, hand light at the base of his neck. 

Timmy bites his lip when they pull apart, smiling. He’s half-hard, though he doesn’t mention anything about it or ask Armie to join him in the tub. 

_ Does he think I won’t want him, after yesterday?  _ wonders Armie as he watches Timmy head into the bathroom.  _ Is he giving me space?  _

He focuses as best he can on work while listening to the splashing noises from a distance. 

_ Is it going to be difficult to have sex, after coming out and—and being rejected?  _ he wonders. It still feels strange, a little alien, to think  _ I’m out. I’m out to the one person I dreaded finding out the most.  _

He tries to examine his feelings, and finds that mostly what he wants is to make Timmy's last week in LA as happy as possible. 

_ I should ask him if he has anything he really wants to do before he leaves.  _ Armie takes a breath, staring blankly at the spreadsheet on the screen in front of him. 

“Working hard?” asks Timmy, from the doorway. He sounds like he’s grinning. 

Armie turns around to look at him. “Short soak.” 

“Missed you,” says Timmy, with a smile that says he knows he’s cheesy. His towel is wrapped around his waist and there are droplets of water from his hair tracking down his neck and shoulders. 

Armie stands up and goes to him, using his height, burying his fingers in Timmy’s wet hair. “Bed, baby,” he murmurs, against Timmy’s lips. They curve into a smile. 

Without a word, Timmy obeys. 

Armie checks on the puppies; they’re curled up on the sofa, and he leaves them that way. 

Timmy’s under the duvet, his towel discarded on top of it. “Don’t you need to be online?” he teases, grinning. 

Armie crawls under the duvet; kisses Timmy’s nose, the base of his neck, the sharp wing of his collarbone. “Tell me something you fantasize about.” 

Timmy gives him a quick, heavy-lidded look. “Uh—well I guess you know a lot of the…I mean…” his cheeks flood pink. “Um.” 

Armie can’t help but grin and kiss him quickly. 

“Do you just like embarrassing me?” mumbles Timmy, pressing his forehead to Armie’s temple. 

Armie huffs a soft laugh. “No. It’s just cute as fuck when you  _ are  _ embarrassed.” 

“It’s—I don’t know why, it’s just kind of…” 

“You’re the most open and confident person I’ve ever slept with, I’m pretty sure,” says Armie. He feels strangely free today.  _ “That’s  _ why it’s cute when you get…bashful.” 

_ “Bashful? _ I’m not a fucking—cartoon dwarf.” 

Armie laughs and licks across Timmy’s nipple. 

“Okay, you want to know something I actually  _ do _ fantasize about?” asks Timmy. He bites his lip. “It’s not like…it would require a bunch of thought and planning and shit so it’s not something immediate—” 

“Say.” Armie brushes his lips across Timmy’s ribs. 

“I—” Timmy screws up his face a little, clearly daring himself to speak. “I love the idea of—of nipple piercings? And—maybe rings, and a chain, and you—a bit of—pain. If you. Uh.” 

Armie smoothes his hands across Timmy’s chest. “You’d look perfect,” he says, voice low. “Fucking  _ perfect.”  _

“Do you think?” asks Timmy, and his expression is a twist of awkwardness and arousal. 

“Mmm.” Armie licks across Timmy’s nipple; flicks it with his tongue, then sucks a little harder than he usually would. 

Timmy makes a soft, wrecked little noise. Arches his back and presses his chest more closely to Armie’s mouth—

“Harder?” asks Armie into the breathless hush between them, and Timmy nods. He’s hard, cock curved up to his belly. 

Armie uses his teeth this time, grazing lightly but sucking more insistently; he reaches up, covering the base of Timmy’s neck with a broad palm, fingers and thumb resting casually on either side. 

Timmy gasps, hips hitching, and covers Armie’s hand with his own. Presses it closer, tighter. 

On the nightstand, Timmy’s phone vibrates with a call. He rolls his eyes and pushes Armie’s hand harder against his throat; stretches his neck into the touch. 

Armie smiles, and bites gently around Timmy’s nipple. The vibrating noise stops. 

And a moment later, begins again. 

Timmy groans and props himself awkwardly up on his elbow. “My mom,” he says, frowning. “We talked last night, but—” the phone stops, then starts vibrating again. “I think she’s just gonna keep—”

“It’s fine,” Armie smiles, kissing Timmy’s chest and rolling onto his back.

Timmy sighs, pouts, and sits up. Answering the phone with an awkward grimace, he bunches the duvet up around his waist to hide his nakedness, a gesture that makes Armie smile since it’s only a voice call. 

“Hey, Mom—” he says, clearly planning to try and end the call as fast as possible. 

Armie can’t pick out the actual words, but he hears a calm, clear tone. 

“Uh.” Timmy sits up slightly, and runs his left hand through his hair. “Oh—” he shoots Armie a quick look. Blinks, eyes wide with surprise. “Shit, Mom, I wasn’t—uh, you could’ve told me, I’m gonna be—it’ll take me some time to—” 

Something soothing, on the other end of the line; and Timmy hunches over again, though he’s still pulling at his damp curls. “Okay, I’ll—uh, but I have to go pick up my car, and…” he casts Armie another glance, then transfers his gaze to the duvet. Frowns quickly, looking away. “Sorry, Momma, you should’ve told me, then I could’ve—”

Laughter, maybe, and something that makes Timmy smile; then “bye, yeah, bye—see you soon—” 

He hangs up with a long, surprised outbreath. 

Armie gives him a quizzical look. 

“Uh—my mom. She…she apparently decided to come help me pack? She's at the airport.” Timmy drops his phone onto the duvet in front of him. “She’s gonna fly back—with me.” He doesn’t meet Armie’s eyes. “Next week.”

The words make Armie’s stomach dissolve.  _ Oh, fuck.  _

_ One week. Or—six days.  _

_ And his mom’s here.  _

_ We won't get this last week together like I thought.  _

_ Will he even want me around?  _

_ He won’t need me to help him pack, and he probably won’t want to introduce me to his mom since he’s leaving and it’s not like I’m—I mean, what am I? We haven’t exactly talked about it— _

Armie smiles, as best he can. "That's really nice." 

Timmy looks over at him, and his expression is a cascade of clearly-legible thoughts:  _ my mom's here to support me, and yours pulled that crap yesterday, and I have to go, she's waiting— _

Armie sits up. "Shit, you must need me to drop you back at your place. Your car—" 

Timmy grimaces awkwardly. “But—what about work—I can get a Lyft—” 

Armie shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll take lunch early. Work later this afternoon.” 

Timmy looks torn, but in the end he nods. 

The next few minutes are a whirl of Timmy collecting up his stuff, getting dressed, and messing despairingly with his curls in the bathroom mirror. Armie takes the puppies downstairs, then shepherds them back up and gets them into their crates. 

Once Timmy’s pulled on his shoes, there’s a breathless pause where they look at one another and Armie wonders for a moment  _ is this it? Is he going to tell me he’ll be busy the rest of the week?  _

But then Timmy blinks, eyelashes fluttering as his gaze drops away. Fixing the strap of his backpack, he grabs Archie’s crate, and they set off for the car.

On the way, they hardly talk. Armie hands Timmy the aux cable and he puts on something quiet and electronic. Stares out of the window. Armie misses the warmth of Timmy’s hand on his thigh.

Outside his apartment block, Timmy turns in his seat, meeting Armie’s gaze. He takes a breath. “I didn’t know my mom would…she never said she was—I guess maybe after yesterday she was worried about me, I was kind of upset when we spoke—” he hesitates. 

Armie half-shakes his head. Smiles gently. “It’s really nice she’d do something like that. Sorry—sorry I have work or I’d drive you—” 

_ Too much, too much, there’s no guarantee he wants you to meet her— _

Timmy blinks and bites his lip. Looks down, then back up at Armie from under his eyelashes. “I—guess she’d really like that. Especially, uh, a car journey with them.” He indicates the puppies with a quick jerk of the head. 

Armie laughs. “You gonna take Livs with you? Or—shit, I never asked, I can look after her, if you—”

“It’s all good. I’ll crate her for the drive. Mom will want to meet her. She’s only seen her on FaceTime, and Livs’ll be rampaging around my parents’ apartment before long.” He licks his bottom lip, staring down at his hands. “I hope you and Arch have a good day…”

Armie swallows. He has no idea if it would be appropriate to ask whether Tim and his mom want his help anytime this week. He checks his watch. “Shit. I—I guess you need to go.” 

Timmy nods, then leans in and kisses Armie quickly on the cheek. It’s almost as if he had to dare himself to do it, and it makes Armie’s heart hurt slightly. He reaches out and pinches Timmy’s chin between thumb and forefinger; draws him in for a long, slow kiss. 

By the time Timmy climbs out of the car, he’s smiling again. 

*

Timmy’s quiet for the next few hours. Armie goes to the gym later than usual, but even his selfie doesn’t draw a response until after ten. 

Timmy:  **o shit ur hot bb 🥵**

Armie:  **I’m a gym douche. **

Timmy:  **yeh sry you are but it’s worth it so i can lust over you **

Armie:  **🙄 How was your day? **

Timmy:  **it got rly late without me realising **

Timmy:  **momma’s gone full mom on my apartment**

Timmy:  **we spent all day sorting stuff for charity **

Timmy:  **everything’s a total fucking mess now **

Armie:  **It always gets worse before it gets better **

He wonders if he ought to be cancelling his vacation days. Bites his lip, trying to figure out how to ask. 

_ Oh, shit. I need to make sure he doesn’t plan anything with his mom for Saturday night.  _

Timmy:  **good motto for life?** 😬

Armie:  **Haha**

He hesitates, but Timmy doesn’t type anything, even though he’s seen the message. Armie takes a deep breath. 

Armie:  **Let me know if you still want any help with packing. Happy to help if you do. **

He sends the message with a quick swoop of nerves in his belly. 

Timmy:  **o thank u 😍 i wasn’t sure if you’d want to meet my mom or not **

Timmy:  **wasn’t rly expecting this to be an issue haha **

Armie frowns at the message, heart sinking.  _ He never thought it would be an issue.  _ Before he can respond, the typing bubbles pop up again. 

Timmy:  **not this week anyway 😅 **

Armie still has no idea what to say in return. 

Timmy:  **arch ok? **

Armie:  **[image] **

Armie:  **Wiped after playing with Lena’s daughter while I was at the gym. I assume Livs LOVED your mom? **

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **[image] **

Timmy:  **U KNOW SHE DID **

Armie examines the photos, fascinated to see the familial trace of the fine jawline and high cheekbones in Timmy’s mom’s face. 

Armie:  **What’s your mom’s name? You look a lot like her**

Timmy:  **Nicole. + everyone says that. my sister looks exactly like my grandma at the same age tho **

Timmy:  **[image] **

Timmy:  **[image]**

Timmy:  **see?**

Armie looks at the pictures, heart swelling with the fact that Timmy’s prepared to show him his family. 

Armie:  **Your sister and your grandma look like the same person. What’s your grandma called? **

Timmy:  **Enid 😄 + my dad is Marc**

Armie:  **I like seeing your family.**

Timmy:  **do u still want to go to brunch this week maybe? my mom loves brunch too **

Armie:  **I can make us a reservation for any day. **

He bites his lip, and types again. 

Armie:  **Could you keep Saturday night free? I’d love to take you out, just you and me.**

Timmy types, seems to hesitate, then types again. 

Timmy:  **u trying to date me, armie? **

Timmy:  **cos uhhh u know i’m weak for you already. u don’t have to take me out**

Armie:  **I want to though. If you’d like that. **

Timmy:  **yes 🥺**

Armie:  **Your mom won’t mind having Saturday night to herself?**

Timmy:  **no she’ll look after livs. she loves her grandpuppy**

Armie:  **You’re just being too cute on purpose now **

Timmy:  **i’m naturally very cute** 😇

Armie:  **You must be sleeping on the sofa**

Timmy:  **yeh mom has my bed**

Timmy:  **u know i can nap anywhere tho **

Armie:  **You can stay here whenever you want.**

Timmy:  **i just keep thinking about the fact we were interrupted earlier **

Armie:  **same**

Timmy:  **you can actually do sth about it! i’m here with my mom in the next room + livs curled up on my legs**

Armie:  **Ha. Sorry baby.**

Timmy:  **feels kind of weird i told u something i fantasize about + then we just had to leave? kind of…vulnerable, i guess? **

Armie:  **Yeah I’m really sorry about that. It means a lot that you told me**

Armie:  **I would’ve liked to play it out with you.**

Armie:  **I did some googling and there are less permanent things we could do in the meantime, since getting your nipples pierced is a big decision. **

Timmy:  **like? **

Armie:  **Alligator clamps and a weighted chain**

There’s a pause, and Armie assumes he’s googling it.

Timmy:  **omg **

Timmy:  **weighted so you feel it the whole time **

Timmy:  **holy shit armie **

Armie:  **You like the idea?**

Timmy:  **fuck**

Timmy:  **yes**

_ I just want to make it perfect for you.  _

Armie:  **We can try anything you want. **

Timmy sees the message right away, but doesn’t immediately start typing. After a while, he types, then stops. Types again, and stops again. 

Timmy:  **you want to do brunch tomorrow maybe? i feel bad leaving my mom but i want to sleep at yours this week**

Timmy:  **feel like she’d mind less if she’d met u**

Timmy:  **but there’s genuinely no pressure. You don’t have to meet her at all**

Armie’s heart does an ungainly flip in his chest. 

Armie:  **Brunch tomorrow sounds good. What kind of place would your mom like? Fancy, not so fancy?**

Timmy:  **not fancy. somewhere chill w good food **

Armie:  **[link] **

Armie:  **here?**

Timmy:  **omg nutella + blueberry pancakes **

Timmy:  **yes**

Armie:  **Thought you’d like that. Does the menu look good for your mom?**

Timmy:  **yeh she’ll be happy**

Armie:  **11?**

Timmy:  **yes. can’t wait to see uuuuu** 🥰

Armie:  **…and the Nutella pancakes.**

Timmy:  **mostly them lbr**

Timmy:  **I JOKE**

Timmy:  **MOSTLY YOU**

Armie:  **It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.**

Timmy:  **well i know u only have heart eyes for the breakfast burrito + bacon x2**

Armie can’t help smiling. He finishes making the reservation online. 

Armie:  **Booked for 11. And you’re right, that burrito is first in my affections **

Armie:  **But you’re a close second, ok?**

Timmy: 🖕

Armie:  **Nice. Cheeky little fucker** 🖕

Timmy: 🥰🥰  **see u tomorrow bb **

Armie:  **Sleep well, baby.**

*

By the time Armie drops Archie off with Lena, he’s nauseous with nerves. 

_ What if Timmy’s mom—Nicole—doesn’t like me?  _

_ Timmy loves his family, we’ll never last if they don’t approve— _

He’s a little early. Parking the car, Armie checks his phone. 

Timmy:  **u good this morning?**

Armie:  **Time for me to be the 🤢 one.**

Timmy:  **bb chill she is a v cool mom. she doesn’t care that we’re dating**

_ Dating. Is that how he’s described us to her? Does she know we haven’t talked about whether it’s going to last? _

_ Although he did say he’d show me round Paris— _

_ What does ‘dating’ mean? Does it mean he wants to keep seeing me? Or is it more casual than that? Is it just a euphemism so he doesn’t have to say ‘hooking up’ to his mom?  _

Armie:  **Doesn’t mean she’ll like me.**

Timmy:  **i don’t think anyone could not like u armie**

Armie:  **You’re biased. You’re sleeping with me.**

Timmy: 😄  **true. i’m a lost cause **

_ Christ. So am I. You have no idea how lost, baby. Head over fucking heels.  _

Walking over to the café, Armie’s surroundings feel almost surreal. He notices his own breathing too much. Finds himself focusing intently on everyday, suddenly-strange details: the tired-looking mannequin in the window of the dry cleaner’s across the street; the dog grooming parlor with its door open, the sounds of barking and a vacuum cleaner coming from within. 

Outside the café Armie hesitates, casting a quick sidelong glance through the window, but Timmy’s not there. For a moment Armie’s caught, unsure whether to wait out here, or to go inside. Every option seems unbearably awkward and self-conscious, but in the end he opts to go and get the table. 

Armie:  **Inside at the table**

He’d agonised over what to wear, and now he’s anxious again, wondering if he’s picked right. He’d tried a soft grey long-sleeved t-shirt, which he’d dismissed as too casual; a light navy sweater, except he knew he’d get too hot, and he couldn’t stand the thought of looking sweaty; even one of his white work shirts, but he hadn’t wanted to look too formal.  _ Christ, why isn’t Timmy here to pick for me? Timmy always looks perfect. His clothes are amazing.  _

_ It’s brunch. I’ll look stupid if I pick something too full-on.  _

In the end he’d gone with slim grey jeans and a check button-down that he thinks looks smart but not too smart. Now he fiddles with the corner of the menu in front of him, fighting the urge to use the selfie camera on his phone to check how he looks. 

_ How the fuck would that look, if Nicole’s first impression was me taking selfies alone at a table in a café?  _

_ Oh shit, I hope Timmy deleted all those gym selfies from his phone.  _

_ She probably doesn’t check his phone, asshole. He’s twenty-one.  _

_ Fuck, he’s only twenty-one and I’m nearly thirty and she’s going to hate me— _

“Hey.” Timmy’s voice, and a gentle touch to his shoulder. 

Armie jumps slightly. Looks up, then scrambles to his feet. “Uh—hi, you must be Nicole—” he holds out his hand, already feeling too big, like he’s taking up way too much space. Nicole is much shorter than Timmy, and Armie finds himself hunching his shoulders so as not to look intimidating. 

“Armie.” She takes his hand, but also reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. Smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Oh. Uh—” Armie hesitates, casting his gaze to Timmy. 

Nicole grins as she steps back and pulls out a chair. “All good, I promise.” 

Timmy hugs Armie, quick but comforting, curls tickling Armie’s cheek. Neither of them attempts a kiss. 

Once they’re all seated, a server appears to take their drinks order. Nicole orders tea; Timmy goes for iced coffee, and Armie for a macchiato. 

“So Timothée tells me you’re thinking about leaving your job,” says Nicole, once the server is gone. There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye that tells Armie it’s a tease. 

“Ha. He does, does he?” asks Armie, giving Timmy a sidelong look. He tries to hold back a smile. “Interesting.” 

“Mom, you’re already getting me in trouble,” complains Timmy, but he doesn’t look bothered at all. He grins at Armie. 

“He says you want to try acting.” 

Armie sighs a long, dubious outbreath. His stomach squirms with nerves, and he wonders if he's even going to want the food when it comes. “Yeah…I guess most of LA wants to ‘try acting’. Doesn’t mean they’re any good at it.” 

“It is a terribly insecure career,” says Nicole, turning her twinkling gaze on Timmy, and raising one eyebrow. 

He rolls his eyes. “Momma…” it’s clearly a gentle, long-standing joke at his expense. 

“Still better than cultural anthropology,” murmurs Armie, and Nicole huffs a laugh. 

Timmy turns dramatically betrayed eyes on Armie, punching him lightly on the upper arm. “Great. Should’ve known ‘brunch’ was code for ‘long slow roast’.”

On the table, Nicole weaves her fingers through Timmy’s, and squeezes his hand. 

_ They’re so comfortable with one another. More comfortable than I think I’ve ever been around any of my family. More than I can even imagine being. _

“You saw his show?” she asks Armie, as the drinks are set in front of them. 

Armie thanks the server with a smile. “Yeah—a couple times, actually. I—Timmy said you weren’t able to?” 

She shakes her head. “Unfortunately we couldn’t fly out on time, Marc had a work trip—and now—” she gestures to herself. “I’m kicking myself for not just coming out a week earlier.” She picks up her cup of tea.

Armie gives a quick, commiserating grimace. “Sorry you couldn't. Still, he'll be back with you in NYC soon.” He swallows, looking down at the corner of the menu that his thumb is restlessly worrying. “You’ll be able to get a full performance.” 

Nicole’s eyes are shrewd when Armie looks up again, but she turns to Timmy. “Your grandma  _ has _ already asked if you'll perform it for us all.” 

“Does grandma  _ like _ theatrical nudity?” asks Timmy drily. 

“She changed your diapers, Timothée. I doubt she’ll be shocked.” Nicole frowns. “And you told me you weren’t going to be naked—” 

“Not  _ totally  _ naked—” 

Their expressions are so similar as they frown at one another that Armie has to bite back a grin. 

“What?” asks Timmy, though his smile says that he knows. 

“Nothing.” Armie shakes his head. Looks back down at the menu, then pushes it away, sick of his own nervous habit of fiddling with the corner. 

“Did you decide?” asks Timmy. 

“You already know what I’m having.” Armie takes a sip of coffee. “Only one bacon though.”

“Only  _ one?” _

Armie smiles and looks away, over to the window. Back to Nicole. “Did you find something you like, or…”

She’s about to respond when Timmy cuts in. “Let me guess. The—granola with honey, and a croissant—no, wait, an  _ almond  _ croissant. And—” he leans over and looks into her cup, “—more tea.” 

Nicole smiles, and sets her menu on top of Timmy’s. Every one of her movements is poised, purposeful. 

_ Didn’t Timmy say she trained as a dancer?  _

Armie catches the server’s eye and smiles, signalling readiness. As they order, he watches the way Timmy pours water for his mom, and then for Armie. Everything about Timmy’s demeanor is calm and relaxed. 

_ He just genuinely enjoys being around her. She puts him at ease.  _

“So how’s the packing going?” he asks, even though the last thing he wants to think about is Timmy leaving. 

“It would be easier if my son hadn’t acquired so many clothes while he’s been here—” 

Timmy rolls his eyes. “It’s not  _ that many—” _

“I think we need to go buy more suitcases.” 

“It’ll be  _ fine,  _ we’re sorting more stuff for charity today—” 

“And getting you to put  _ anything  _ on the Goodwill pile yesterday was like pulling teeth.” 

“That was  _ books.  _ Books are different. I probably don’t want half those clothes anymore.” 

“Half? I’ll hold you to that.” 

Timmy grimaces, and sighs. Leans slightly towards Armie, smiling. “You should come see if you want any of the books.” 

That lean makes Armie  _ miss  _ Timmy, suddenly and fiercely. If they were sitting closer together Timmy could nudge his shoulder, then rest his head there. Armie could slip his arm around Timmy’s waist and pull him closer. Kiss his head, his nose, his lips. 

_ Five days. Five days, then you won’t be able to do that anymore— _

“Just what I need. More books.” Armie says it with a quick half-smile for Timmy. 

“He has a lot of books,” Timmy grins at his mom. 

“Ah, a man after Marc’s heart.” She rolls her eyes, but they crinkle at the edges. “I’m always telling him we’d have a lot more room in the apartment if he’d actually  _ throw out  _ some of the books he’s finished reading—” 

“And he knows you don’t really mean it, Mom.” Under the table, Timmy’s foot nudges against Armie’s, then hooks behind it. Armie’s heart lurches, and settles. For the first time today he feels like he can breathe properly. 

Nicole sighs. “I know. That’s the problem.  _ I _ know I don’t mean it, too.” 

“You always let him buy a million books when you go to Paris together—” the food starts to arrive as Timmy’s speaking. “And it’s not like Pauli stops him either.” 

“Nope. She finds him new bookstores, and takes him there. Encourages him.” Nicole shakes her head, then thanks the server. 

“Now you know why  _ I’m _ my mom’s favorite child,” says Timmy, catching Armie’s eye. 

“Mm-hmm,” hums Nicole knowingly, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Favorite  _ son.”  _

Timmy sighs and rolls his eyes. “At least I’m  _ Armie’s  _ favorite.” 

Armie smiles, dropping his gaze to the plate in front of him. If he knew Nicole better he’d tease Timmy back:  _ when did I ever say that, huh?  _ and kiss him when he pouted—

Even though Timmy had promised that his parents don’t care, part of Armie freezes up when he thinks about flirting right in front of Nicole. 

He can’t do it. 

Instead, he reaches out and rests his hand in the center of Timmy’s upper back; lets his fingertips draw a pattern, back and forth.  _ Is this enough, baby? Do you understand? Can this be enough, for now?  _

One of Timmy’s curls has escaped. Armie wants to brush it away from his eyes, tuck it behind his ear.

Timmy turns a golden-green gaze on him; smiles, biting his lip. His cheeks are tinged slightly pink. “Surprised you’re not into  _ that  _ yet,” he says after a minute, nodding at the burrito. 

“Just being polite…” returns Armie, giving Timmy a look that means  _ quit making it sound like I just stuff food in my face the minute it appears in front of me— _

Timmy giggles, and takes a sip of iced coffee.

“Don’t be polite, don’t be polite.” Nicole takes up her spoon and starts on her granola. “So Armie, where did you grow up?” 

While they eat, she asks Armie all about the Caymans, and about returning to LA. About business school, and his job. Once or twice when Armie’s mom is mentioned, he catches a concerned glance from Timmy; but he feels fine. Yesterday morning still doesn’t seem  _ real. _ It feels a thousand miles away, or like it happened to a different person. 

The conversation turns to youthful bad behavior, and Armie admits that his unhappiness in returning to LA had eventually led to him burning his name into the front lawn of a school he was subsequently expelled from. 

“Single dumbest crime ever,” he says, shaking his head. “I literally signed it.” 

Nicole huffs a quiet laugh. “How do you get from there to business school?” 

_ My parents’ money. And them putting the fear of God into me.  _ Armie sighs. Half-shakes his head. “Another school. I guess knowing it was my last chance got through to me in the end.” He looks away. “You know, Tim told me something  _ very  _ intriguing about his school days, something about a video? A video I wasn’t to watch—something about... _ rapping?”  _

Nicole throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, believe me, when you see it, you’ll watch.” 

Timmy drops his fork and covers his face with his hand. He’s blushing bright red. “Tell me you don’t—”

“No, no.” She waves a hand, grinning. “Proud as I am of you, Timothée, I can’t say I fill my phone with videos of your teenage rap efforts.” She catches Armie’s eye. “It’s Giullian you’ll need for that one, he’ll have it for sure—”

Timmy groans and shakes his head.  _ “Mom—”  _

Snorting a laugh into his coffee, Armie watches Nicole cheerfully finish the last mouthful of her croissant. “This Giullian sounds like someone I need to follow on Instagram, huh?” he folds over when Timmy jabs him lightly in the ribs.

“Good choice of café,” Nicole says, when she’s done. She finishes her tea, too, then picks up her purse. “Bathroom.” 

As she walks away, Timmy turns to Armie. “Babe—I’m sorry she asked you all that about your family. I feel like maybe today wasn’t the right day for it—” his hand slips into Armie’s on the table, their fingers tangling together.

Armie shakes his head. “It—I honestly think it hasn’t really sunk in yet. Yesterday, I mean.” 

Timmy gives him a soft look. “You have therapy later, right?” 

Nodding, Armie rearranges the cutlery on his plate. Sighs. “Yeah. I—guess it’ll be an interesting one.” 

Timmy hesitates. “Did you—want me to come over tonight? I—guess it would be kind of late, since Mom and I’ll grab dinner, and you’ll probably go to the gym after therapy, right? But if you want, I could…” 

“Yes.” Armie says it quickly, then looks up. “Yes. If—if you think your mom really won’t mind.” 

Timmy shakes his head. “I can tell. She likes you.” 

Armie looks down at the table. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” says Timmy confidently. After a moment he tugs gently on Armie’s fingers. “Kiss me?” It’s just a murmur, hesitant, unsure of whether Armie will want to. 

_ Oh, Tim. I don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve these last few days with you. _ Armie pinches Timmy’s chin between thumb and forefinger, and pulls him closer for a kiss. 

Timmy smiles into it, and after a moment Armie can’t help smiling too. 

“Decent brunch?” Armie asks. 

“So good.” Timmy presses his forehead to Armie’s. “Missed you yesterday.” His smile turns cheeky. “You  _ and  _ your giant bed.” 

“Mostly the bed, huh?” 

“Mostly the bed…” their teasing melts into another smiling kiss, and Armie curves his palm to Timmy’s cheek, lets his thumb trace the delicate line of his jaw. 

They spring apart at the sound of Nicole’s chair scraping across the floor. Armie can feel himself turning bright pink, like a teenager caught making out; he almost wants to apologize. Surprised at the intensity of the cold strike of fear next to his heart, he knows with a sinking feeling that he’ll need to discuss it with Jane later. 

Nicole smiles as she takes her seat. “I asked the server for the check.” 

Timmy leans his shoulder against Armie’s. “Mom, I’m gonna sleep at Armie’s tonight, okay? The sofa wasn’t the best for the whole night, and the puppies probably miss each other.” 

Nicole’s searching in her purse for her wallet. “You’re taking Livs with you?” she asks, absently. “I’ll miss my grandpuppy.” 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to sleep on a sofa with your grandpuppy wriggling and trying to lick your face all night.”

Nicole huffs amusement as she places her wallet on the table. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked this yet, but Armie—I need to see pictures of Archie.” 

Armie grins, then flushes as he remembers how many shirtless pictures of himself at the gym there are in his camera roll. 

“You should meet him tomorrow, Mom,” says Timmy quickly. He turns to Armie. “You still have the day off work, right?” 

Armie nods. “Yup. I can ask Lena to take both the puppies if you want me to drive stuff over to Goodwill, or…” 

Timmy shakes his head. “It’s fine, they’ll have fun getting into shit as we try and pack it. And anyway, Mom wants to meet Archie.” He rests his head on Armie’s shoulder. “I’m gonna send a bunch of the clothes to Out of the Closet. The ones that are still good enough to sell.” 

Armie’s stomach flips at the words, but he nods. Resists the urge to kiss Timmy’s temple, his curls. He takes a breath and lays his arm along the back of Timmy’s chair, fingers resting lightly on Timmy’s upper arm. 

When Armie sees the server approaching and reaches for his wallet, Nicole waves him off. “Breakfast’s on me, boys,” she smiles. 

Outside the café their group pauses awkwardly, until Nicole leans up to give Armie a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll see you and Archie tomorrow.”

Armie ducks his head. “He’ll jump up at you, I’m afraid.” 

“Not as much as Livs, for sure,” says Timmy. He leans into Armie’s side, and this time it feels a little more natural for Armie to put his arm around him, pull him closer, even in front of Nicole. “Plus he’s like, half Livvy’s weight at this point, so.”

"Probably not  _ half…"  _ says Armie, but Timmy tips his head up and grins at him. His curls are wild against Armie's chest. 

"See you later?" asks Timmy, and it's not really a question. "Text me to let me know what time, 'kay?" 

Armie smiles down at him. Nods and, when Timmy presses up, meets him in a quick peck on the lips. His heart lurches, but he does it all the same, and he feels warm with pride as he does. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks away. 

_ Timmy wanted me to meet his mom.  _

_ Timmy wanted to kiss me in front of his mom.  _

He takes a deep breath.

_ I need to tell him I don't want this week to be the end.  _

_ I need to get this right.  _


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for you all, as readers. I hope you're doing okay. Stay safe and well. x

“And what did you say?” Jane asks. “When your mother told you that your chosen path in life was not the right one?” 

Armie licks his lips. “I’m—I can’t remember—exactly everything? The exact words? I was—” he half-laughs, dropping his gaze to the carpet, “kind of shaky, I guess. But I—I think I said—she said I wasn’t a ‘homosexual’, and I said—that it wasn’t the worst thing I could have told her. That I’d figured out who I—love. Who I love.” He thinks for a moment. “And I told her I didn’t want her ‘guidance’ through it. She wanted to—to guide me back to God, she said. And I—I told her no.” The words seem unbelievable even as he says them. 

Jane nods. “What did your mother say to that?” 

“She—she said it wasn’t love. That it couldn’t be love. If it was between—two men. So.” He half-shrugs, taking a breath that seems to hardly fill his lungs. “I—I told her to get out.” 

Jane sits for a moment, absorbing this. “And did she?” 

Armie nods. For some reason what he remembers most is the mug with her lipstick still on it, sitting abandoned on the counter. The brief flourish of his mother putting her sunglasses on. “Yeah. Yes. She left.” 

“How did you feel, when she did?” 

Armie takes another long breath, then lets it out. “I—honestly? I’m not sure any of it’s sunk in yet. All I remember is dumb stuff, like—like the mug she’d used, I didn’t really want to touch it, wash it up—and Timmy was in the bedroom and I felt—shame? I guess? That he’d heard—what it could be like. With her. I didn’t—I didn’t want him to be awake to hear it. His family are—they’re very accepting, and…” he shrugs, and presses his hands together. His palms are warm, a little dry. 

“It’s very common,” says Jane gently, “for children of abusive parents to blame themselves for the abuse. To assume that the treatment they receive is their fault, rather than the fault of the parent.” She joins her hands in her lap. “The shame you felt was natural, Armie, because it was learned, from a very young age. But what you did in resisting her narrative this time, was a big step in pushing back against that sense of shame, against the sense that any of this is your fault. Do you see how?” 

Armie closes his eyes. Suddenly they are stinging with unshed tears. He breathes slowly, unable to speak for a long minute. When he does, his voice is deeper as he tries to keep control of it, prevent it from shaking. “I—I guess it’s. Maybe to do with—we spoke before about being—about just apologizing. To keep out of an argument, to—to just avoid—conflict—” he takes another long, slow breath. “But I—I couldn’t do that, this time, because—I’m trying to be—myself, and—” he stops, dropping his head as tears spill from beneath his closed eyelids. 

When he opens his eyes, Jane has placed a box of tissues next to his chair. He laughs wetly and takes one. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, as he wipes his eyes and face. 

“You say you ‘couldn’t’ do it this time,” says Jane calmly. “But I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You  _ didn’t _ avoid conflict this time. You  _ chose _ the conflict, a conflict which—as we have discussed before—your mother always presents as you against both her and God. You chose to resist her, and you asked her to leave your space. That’s huge. It’s  _ important. _ Give yourself credit for it.” 

Armie stares at her. More tears fall, and he reaches for another tissue. Closes his eyes, and lets the words run through him. 

_ It’s important. _

They leave a cold, tingling sensation in their wake, like the aftermath of a shiver. 

“It will take hard, continued work,” says Jane. “Daily work. But you have taken another huge step towards being seen. Towards living truthfully.” 

Slowly, Armie nods. It feels hard to do; like he’s accepting an accolade that he doesn’t deserve. But Jane says he  _ does _ deserve it, and right now, in this moment, he lets himself believe. 

“You told your mother that you have worked out who you love,” says Jane. There’s a slight smile tugging at the edges of her lips. “Was that a general statement, or a particular one?” 

Armie huffs a laugh, feeling his cheeks turn pink. He can’t stop the grin trying to spread across his face. “I—uh. Yeah. Both, I guess.” He half-frowns. “Uh, I mean, I actually—I genuinely am not sure what label I’d use for myself, for—my sexuality, I just—I can’t…” he shakes his head, still trying to fight his grin. “I can’t even think about anyone else, right now, he’s—” the sentence ends in another head-shake, another laugh. He stares down at the ugly carpet pattern.

_ He’s everything.  _

_ I don’t know what else to say. _

“Have you told him?” asks Jane, quietly. 

Armie swallows. “No. And now his mom’s in town. I—met her. This morning.” 

Jane gives him a look that says,  _ you’ve had a week, haven’t you. _ “I see. Was this a planned trip?” 

Armie shakes his head. “No, I—I actually think Tim was so—I think he spoke to his mom, after—after hearing my mom’s—what she said. I think he was—upset and his mom…” he shrugs, gestures. “She flew in. Wanted to help him pack, I guess.” 

“It affected him deeply, hearing your mother’s words to you?” asks Jane, watching Armie closely. 

“He got—sick.” Armie’s surprised again, hearing himself saying the words. It’s another thing he doesn’t feel he’s had time to think through properly. “At the time I thought it was because he had—he had this party, the night before, his wrap party from the show—but…” he shakes his head. “I don’t think that makes sense. He wasn’t that drunk, and he’s twenty-one, I don’t think he even had a hangover—” 

“If his family are accepting, as you say, it’s possible he had no idea how extreme your mother’s views really were. Or perhaps that he had never heard some of the accompanying rhetoric.” 

Armie acknowledges it with a nod. “I—guess. Yeah.” Then, “I told him about it—generally, I guess? But not really—not the specifics.” 

“Especially directed at someone you love, something so extreme can be powerfully affecting.” 

Armie presses his lips together, dropping his gaze to his hands. “I’m pretty sure that’s not—that he doesn’t—” 

“No?” prompts Jane. 

“I think I told you he—had his heart broken. Before me.” Armie half-shakes his head. “His ex cheated on him. But they were together two years, and Tim—he moved across the country for him, left NYC, and I get the impression NYC is—something vital for him, you know? He loves it, I think. In a way I don’t really…” he looks around at the walls, like he can see the sprawl of LA beyond them. “In a way I guess I’ve never really felt, unless I think about…I don’t know. Beaches, alone, on the island. Or something.” He sighs, and shrugs. “But it—he—was important enough for Tim to leave NYC and come here. And he cried, once, about how he was still humiliated, how it still hurt—” 

“You think he isn’t ready to love someone else yet?” 

Slowly, Armie nods. “Yeah, I—he’s so kind, you know? He’s a kind, decent person. And I think it would be easy to—mistake that. Misread it. For something else. More.”

Jane doesn’t say anything, and after a long moment, Armie speaks his fear. 

“He maybe wanted someone—you know, at first I thought it was just a rebound but he was very—he was  _ kind, _ when—when we started hanging out and I’d never—been with a guy before, so it wasn’t just some, you know, rebound hookup thing. But—I’ve wondered if he wanted someone—the word that always comes to mind is ‘safe’, right? Almost like—a palate cleanser. Someone for a—discrete amount of time. Like, he knows he’s leaving on Monday, so. We’ve been in this bubble. And I don’t know if he’d even want to—take it outside that. Make it something else.” 

“Have you  _ spoken  _ about taking it outside that bubble?” asks Jane. 

“I—” Armie hesitates. “No, not—we spoke once about vacations? About—I said I missed the Caymans and he should visit, and—and I’d show him around. If he wanted. And it seemed like he wanted to. And he said he could show me Paris, if…” he licks his lips, gaze following the pattern of the carpet again. “So. But that’s—it’s not something concrete, I guess, it’s just…” he shrugs. 

“Having you meet his mother certainly seems to me like an expansion of the bubble,” says Jane, calmly. “Was it an impromptu meeting? Or a planned one?” 

“Planned,” says Armie, falsely casual. “We’d been thinking about going to brunch anyway, and then she visited, so—I mean, planned on short notice. But. Uh. Planned.”

There’s a long, quiet moment. “Did Tim introduce his ex to his parents, too?” 

Armie nods. “Yeah, he—but he said Leo never did the same. In return.” He turns his face to the side. “But I—I haven’t really got anyone to introduce him to that’s not—” he shakes his head. “I mean, I’m glad he  _ didn’t  _ meet my mom.” 

“You took him to meet Tyler and his family, though.” Jane shifts slightly in her seat. “Close friends, I thought. Perhaps—family. Depending on how you look at it.” 

For a moment, Armie thinks about it. “More my family than my family, really,” he says, at last. “And—Sunday. After—after my mom—I fell asleep, and—Timmy called them. Tyler and Jacs, and the kids. They all came over, and—” he half-shrugs. “We made pizza. Watched Moana. It was…” he shakes his head, feeling the prickle of tears behind his eyes again. “Shit, actually, I—” his throat is tight. “That was—he did that, and I—I don’t think I’d really—” 

Jane lets the quiet between them extend for a while, and Armie breathes steadily, trying to master his emotions. 

“I just mean, it must have been—it was probably a bit awkward? To call Ty like that. But he—he did it anyway. And it felt good to—to have them all there. In the evening.” 

Jane takes her time to consider it. “It sounds to me as though he realizes that you  _ have  _ introduced him to people who hold the same importance to you as family. As blood relations.” 

Armie swallows, and nods. 

_ “You _ did that. You made him feel that you had offered him something his ex-boyfriend had not.” 

“I mean, I guess anyone decent would—”

“You came out to Tyler because you wanted to invite Tim to meet them, didn’t you?” 

Armie takes a long, shaky breath. “Yes.” 

“That’s important too, Armie. Give yourself credit for it.” 

Armie doesn’t know what to say. After a minute, Jane speaks again.

“It seems natural to me that, in return, he chose to introduce you to his mother.” 

Cheeks pink, Armie lets go of something that’s been in his head all day. “He—he kissed me. In front of his mom. I mean—not major PDA or anything, just…” he bites his lip. “And I think he said he told her we’re dating. So. Although whatever ‘dating’ means—” 

Jane smiles. “Tell me what your ideal outcome is.” 

On a long outbreath, Armie tries to find the words. “Ideal? What, like—perfect world? Shit, I—I guess I—tell him that I’m—in love with him, and—and he feels the same or…at least he wants to keep seeing me, I guess, and—I’m.” He stops. Closes his eyes, because it feels easier. “I’ve been—looking at acting classes. In NYC.” He’s embarrassed just saying it. “It’s not—it’s not just because of Tim, it would be way too much pressure to just move across the country for him like that, he’s twenty-one, I’d be putting too much on him but—there are a lot of good classes there, and—and honestly, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I don’t know if LA is—I mean we spoke about my friends, how many of my friends really know me, how many of them I really  _ want  _ to know the real me—” he shakes his head. “It would suck leaving Tyler and Jacs, but—but I’d come see everyone, and…” he shrugs. “I have the money to do it. And—and Tim has this thing, he says he hates hearing me be ‘meh’ when I talk about my job. And—I know it’s just a job, and maybe you shouldn’t look for fulfilment in life in your career, but…” he swallows. “But I  _ am _ ‘meh’ about it. I don’t really care. And—and I’m still angry, I guess, that I wanted to act and I never even tried, because—of my family. But they’re—I don’t need their money anymore, I don’t need their approval—” he laughs. “Fuck, I mean, I definitely don’t  _ have  _ their approval now, anyway, so.” 

After a minute, he opens his eyes. “So. Ideal, unrealistic scenario, I guess: tell Tim I love him, he says he loves me too, I quit my job and move to NYC. I take acting classes, am actually a great actor and, you know, get an agent and book jobs—doing that. Acting.” 

“Which parts are unrealistic?” smiles Jane. 

Armie huffs a laugh. “All of it?” he rolls his eyes as he says it, knowing she wants better than that. “Well, it’s—I’ve no idea if I have any talent. But I can sign up for classes. And I can quit my job and move. I moved not that long ago anyway, so. It’s not even like the packing will be that bad. Although I do have Arch now, but…” he shrugs. “That’s just practical stuff. The unrealistic parts—like I say, Tim probably isn’t ready to—and he may just want a clean break, not…some guy suddenly following him—” 

“Which parts can  _ you _ control?” 

Armie swallows. “Telling him I love him. Quitting my job. Signing up for classes. Moving to NYC.” 

“Would you only consider changing career and location if Tim returns your feelings?” 

Slowly, Armie shakes his head. “I—guess I might stay here for a while, research classes here, options I mean—because I’d be close to Ty, and to some other friends, but…” he takes a deep breath. “I still want to try. Acting. Or—something creative. There’s—there’s no reason to keep doing what my parents wanted me to do.” 

Jane smiles. “What does Tyler say about Timmy?” 

Armie half-shakes his head, smiling wryly. “Tell him. He says, tell him.” 

*

“Don’t think I’m not still watching you, Hammer!” yells Armie’s trainer from across the room. He’s helping another client right now, but nothing escapes his eagle eye. 

Armie grits his teeth, laughing through it, pushing into the burn. He’s on the rowing machine, and his muscles are screaming. Resistance turned up high, he’s having to really focus on keeping his form. “Sadist,” he yells, on a gasp, and Ryan laughs. 

“Yup. Keep going. Get that back flat, you’re letting it go—”

“It is—fucking—flat,” hisses Armie through his teeth, but he’s grinning through the pain. 

_ Thank fuck for Ryan.  _

_ Thank fuck for rowing.  _

_ Timmy’s coming over later.  _

*

“Oh my god, what did  _ you  _ have for dinner?” asks Timmy, kicking off his shoes and wandering into the kitchen as the puppies zoom ecstatically around the room. “Shit, look at them, you’d think they’d been apart for weeks.” He peers into the baking dish still on the side. “Is that cannelloni?” 

Armie huffs amusement. “Yup. Basically lasagna in another shape, though. You’ve seen pretty much everything I know how to cook already.” 

Timmy grins. “I mean, I had to YouTube how to make you breakfast, so.” He picks off a piece of baked cheese from around the edge of the dish and eats it. “Mom and I were so tired after packing all day we just ordered pizza. We ordered from this place that supposedly does New York style, but it was  _ not—”  _

“Oh, uh-huh, because my city’s so terrible,” grins Armie, wrapping his arms around Timmy’s waist. “Pizza, bagels…Christ, but it’s a wasteland here.”

“Next time you’re in NYC I’m taking you for  _ real  _ pizza,” says Timmy, pressing his lips to Armie’s jaw. 

_ Timmy,  _ rehearses Armie, in his mind.  _ What if I was in NYC more? What if I moved there?  _ His heart lurches dizzily as he thinks about saying it. 

“Hey, what’s this?” asks Timmy. “It has my name on it.” He leans over to grab the parcel from the counter, letting Armie hold him, keep him on balance.

Armie smiles, even though he can feel his cheeks turning pink. Shrugs. “Open it.” 

Timmy shoots him a look from under his eyelashes, fingers tearing eagerly at the cardboard of the delivery box. 

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, when he opens the thicker, heavy black cardboard box inside. His eyelashes flutter and his cheeks flood with color. He looks up, eyes very green. “Oh my god—” 

Armie knows he’s blushing too. “They didn’t have another color, but these had the best reviews—” 

“I  _ love  _ the color.” Timmy touches the rose-gold chain, the clips. His delicate fingers slip beneath the chain, weighing it. “Doesn’t  _ feel  _ too heavy—” 

“Might feel heavy enough on. After a while.” Armie has to work to keep arousal out of his voice, to sound light and easy. 

“Fuck. Armie.” Timmy pushes up on tiptoe to press his lips to the corner of Armie’s mouth. “No-one’s—bought me something like this before.” 

Armie half-shrugs, then brushes their lips together. “Feels like kind of a selfish gift. Well, if you want to use them with me.” He smiles. 

“Who else?” Rolling his eyes, Timmy kisses Armie needily. He’s half-hard against Armie’s thigh, and Armie can feel himself responding easily. “Can we try them?” 

Armie laughs quietly. “Fuck, yes.” 

Timmy grins against Armie’s lips, then looks down to tip Armie’s wrist, look at his watch. “Mmff. Not long until we can put the babies to bed. I’ll play with them, you clean up?” he looks at the dish of cannelloni, the plates in the sink. “Or I can do the dishes—” 

“You tire out the pups.” Armie kisses Timmy’s forehead. Pulling away from him feels like torture.

He tries desperately not to think about Monday. 

*

“Armie—Armie please—” Timmy writhes under Armie’s hands, his lips. “Fuck—please, fuck me—” 

Armie licks across Timmy’s nipple again. He’s hard, and he’s trying to strike a balance between giving Timmy what he  _ wants,  _ and what he  _ needs.  _ “You really want me to fuck you already?” he murmurs, pinching Timmy’s nipple between finger and thumb of his left hand. The first two fingers of his right hand are inside Timmy. “You don’t want to try your new toy first?”

Timmy wriggles, and pouts. “No—I…” he sighs, and laughs when Armie grins. Drops his head back onto the pillow with a thump.  _ “Fine.”  _

Armie huffs a laugh and grazes his teeth across Timmy’s nipple. “None of this attitude when you’ve got your chain on, Tim.” He lets his voice drop away from playfulness just enough to show he means it. “Mmm?”

Timmy gasps and his hips stutter slightly. “Yes,” he replies, a deep catch to his whisper. 

“Now.” Armie picks up a clamp. Bends his head to suck and lick at Timmy’s nipple again. “You put this on for me, okay? I want you in control of it to start with. They look like they’re set pretty loose, so we can figure out how tight you want to try them this first time.” 

Timmy’s slim fingers are slightly unsteady as he takes the clip. He gasps as he slips it on, a rough hitch of breath that pulls a tight little tug of arousal in Armie’s stomach. 

“Too tight?” Armie asks, smoothing his palm across Timmy’s slim chest. “If it hurts—”

“It—I like it.” Timmy’s cheeks flood pink. He rolls his hips. “I—can you—” 

Armie smiles and kisses Timmy’s chest. Resumes moving his fingers inside, a slow rocking motion that makes Timmy sigh, his eyelashes flutter. 

“Armie, can I—” Timmy touches the other clamp with the pad of his thumb. Slips his fingers under the chain again, weighing it, like he’s marvelling at its reality. 

The pleasure of having bought a gift that touches something deep and essential-seeming in Timmy is almost overwhelming. It’s a warmth in Armie’s belly, a kind of arousal he hadn’t expected, that he hasn’t experienced before. 

_ He’ll take his gift back to NYC with him. The next time he plays with it, it’ll be with someone else.  _ Armie tries to banish the thought, to push it as far from his mind as possible. 

_ I need to be with him as much as possible this week. I want him to know— _

_ I want him to know how much this means to me. How much he means to me. I don’t want him to question that, even if— _

_ Even if we don’t see each other again after this.  _

“Yes.” Armie nods. 

Timmy hesitates. His cheeks are still very pink, and he bites his bottom lip. “Will—would—you put this one on me?” he asks, on a breath. His eyelashes flutter and he seems to dare himself to add, “it feels fine—good—and I…like the idea of you…”

Armie loves him, with a painful tug of recognition in his chest.  _ He always tells me what he wants. What he likes. Even when he’s embarrassed.  _ The thought feels like gratitude. 

Gently, cautiously, Armie attaches the clip; it looks like it must be pinching too tight. But Timmy rolls his hips, pressing onto Armie’s fingers with a soft moan. 

Armie gathers the chain in his palm so it won’t slide and pull. Pools the sinuous rose-gold at the center of Timmy’s pale chest, and takes in the sight. “Christ, Tim. You look good.” 

_ So fucking pretty.  _ Armie isn’t sure whether to say the words. 

_ But he deserves to know how beautiful he is.  _

Armie bends his head and licks softly across Timmy’s nipple, pinched and reddened by the clamp. 

Timmy makes a whining noise in his throat, hips hitching. “Oh, fuck—” he gasps. “Armie, I—I need you—” 

_ Christ.  _

“Feel good?” murmurs Armie, palm a loose cage over the coil of chain at the center of Timmy’s chest. 

“I—” Timmy shudders, eyes heavy-lidded. “You  _ know  _ I do. I need you, I  _ need  _ you—”

“Baby.” Armie brushes his lips across Timmy’s nipple. Gently, he shifts the chain. Lets it tug and pull, just a little. “So impatient.” 

Timmy gives a shuddery little breath, a moan, quickly-stifled. His lips part on  _ more,  _ but there’s no sound. 

Armie smiles. Lets the chain slither and fall heavily to one side of Timmy’s narrow chest. 

Timmy whimpers, and rolls his hips to press himself onto Armie’s fingers. “Armie…” he breathes. 

“Hmm.” Armie curls over, pressing a kiss to the shaft of Timmy’s cock. Brushing his lips slowly up to the head, and taking Timmy in. Swirling his tongue slowly before he pulls back. “Quiet for me now, baby. You think you can do that?” 

And Timmy whimpers, but only in his throat. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes close as he arches his back, and the chain shifts against his pale skin. 

“Good boy.” Armie dips his head again; takes Timmy’s cock into his mouth in a long, slow slide. Sucks him lazily, wetly, not tight enough to provide relief. “You know I got you, baby. You know I’ll make you feel so good.” 

Timmy presses back against Armie’s hand, fucking himself on Armie’s fingers to the limited extent he can. His eyes open, a hazy, golden-green gaze. 

Left-handed, Armie squeezes out lube. Lots of it, and when he strokes Timmy’s cock his hand glides easily. He keeps his grip loose, teasing. 

Timmy swallows something that sounds like a moan. 

Armie rocks his fingers inside, stroking only lightly. “How does it feel, baby?” he murmurs. “You can tell me.” 

But Timmy only shakes his head, delicate lips parting then meeting again. He’s flushed, pink spreading down his neck now, across his chest. He rolls his hips into Armie’s hands, caught between sensations, seeking friction, seeking electricity. 

Armie tightens his hand on Timmy’s shaft. Strokes slowly up, then back down. “Tell me, baby.” 

Timmy’s stomach and thigh muscles tighten as he presses between Armie’s hands again. He looks hazy, blurred with need. 

And Armie’s responsibility hits him, a painful jolt of protectiveness and love that feels  _ heavy  _ in his chest, pouring, spreading through his limbs like molten lava. 

_ He’s spaced out.  _

_ He said this was just for us. Something he’s only done with me.  _

_ We might only have these last few days together, and I want to get this right.  _

He settles himself across Timmy’s body, a protective curl of his own tanned form around the pale, slim one beneath him. Dips his head to take Timmy in his mouth again, fingers inside a soft but regular caress—

He tangles his left hand in the chain, and tugs with infinite care.

Timmy’s lips part on a silent groan, but he doesn’t speak.

Armie sucks him, pulling the chain just a little harder this time—a constant pressure that he hopes is a pleasurable ache for Timmy. He pulls back enough to murmur, “that’s so good, baby. So good for me.” 

And a while ago, Timmy’s answer would’ve been  _ I want you, I need you, if you were inside me it’d really be good for you _ —but now he’s gone, floating in a space both very separate from, and intimately connected to, Armie. 

_ Dependent on me.  _ Armie lets the thought ache through him. He’s hard, aroused, but too focused on Timmy to care. On bringing Timmy through this safely, happily.  _ Whole.  _ It’s a strange word, but it feels right. 

_ He deserves everything. Only the best.  _

Taking Timmy all the way into his mouth, he fights a smile when he thinks about how difficult he found it the first couple times he tried. 

_ I’m experienced, now. Experienced at sucking cock.  _ The thought makes arousal catch and burn in his stomach, along with surprise at that arousal. 

He sets up a rhythm; a tight, slow slide of lips and tongue, a firm massaging action inside. Timmy’s  _ quiet;  _ his breath catches, sometimes, but he’s not holding back words or moans as Armie has begun to expect. 

Instead he’s watching Armie, misty-gazed, focusing often on the way Armie plays the chain through his fingers. He seems—dazed. 

_ Real subspace,  _ thinks Armie, realizing that Timmy’s ragged breaths are an indicator of how close he’s getting. Armie gentles his movements, pulling back to kiss Timmy’s hipbone, his stomach.  _ He’s been out of it after play before, but during? He was mostly suppressing things he wanted to say— _

Odd, tender pride bursts in Armie’s chest at the knowledge. 

_ It requires great trust, and a sense of safety.  _ Armie knows this, from reading; but suddenly to find himself so in charge of Timmy, of his wellbeing—it’s dizzying, and terrifying, and flattering. 

Armie takes Timmy’s cock back into his mouth; laps at the place just beneath the head that would often have him groaning, suppressing a curse. 

Timmy’s lips part and his eyelashes flutter, but he doesn’t make a sound. He arches his chest, shifts on the bed, and Armie realizes he’s pulling away from the chain, deliberately inducing more pain. His movements have a clumsy, uncoordinated edge to them. 

_ He’s not really feeling it, is he? He’s lost the threshold of normal sensation.  _

_ So it’s up to me to look after him.  _

Chain still looped through his fingers, Armie lets his hand lie heavily in the center of Timmy’s chest. “Be still,” he says, calmly. Firmly. 

Timmy stops moving immediately. 

“You want more,” Armie states. He knows it’s unlikely Timmy will be able to answer. “I think you’re close, and you need more to get you there.” Armie smiles softly, finding Timmy’s heavy-lidded gaze. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

And Armie can feel it, though he can’t define it: a heaviness in Timmy’s body, a relaxation that means  _ surrender. _

“Good boy,” murmurs Armie, and he can’t stop his smile. He kisses Timmy’s stomach, presses his nose into the crease at his hip, breathes him in. His throat tightens and his eyes sting, like he could cry. “There’s my good boy.”  _ I adore you.  _

Timmy’s cock is thick and heavy on Armie’s tongue; bigger than ever in his mouth. Armie’s jaw aches, and he loves it.

Armie twists and tangles the chain through his fingers. Tugs sometimes, with sharp little jerks which are in reality very gentle, but which Timmy clearly feels: his cock strains in Armie’s mouth and for a moment Armie wonders if he’s about to come—

Timmy’s eyes are closed, now, lost in sensation. His breathing is ragged, his thighs and stomach tense. 

All at once Armie misses stifled moans and fingers tightening in the muscle of his shoulder; misses repetitions of his name and suppressed curses. Timmy’s so quiet, so still, trembling on the brink, wrapped safe in Armie’s care. 

Armie tightens his fist in the chain, a long slow ache of a pull that really isn’t much but must  _ feel  _ like a lot, because Timmy shudders and whines and then he’s coming, helplessly, hips canting to find more of Armie’s mouth, more of his fingers,  _ more, more, more— _

Armie gives him more, gives him everything, keeping his movements steady.  _ Timmy. Oh, fuck. Tim.  _ Swallows everything, because he wants this, he wants Timmy, he wants  _ more  _ too. 

And when it’s over, he eases his fingers gently from Timmy’s body; those hazel-gold eyes are open but still hazy-looking, those delicate lips parted and bitten red. 

“Okay, baby. Okay. My good boy, you were perfect. You were so good.” Armie rests his hand gently on Timmy’s chest. “I’m going to take these off now, baby, okay? It might be intense after. It will be.” 

Timmy’s breath catches; he doesn’t nod, but Armie gives him time to move away, to object, even to give a look that might mean  _ no. _

Slowly, carefully, Armie eases the first clamp off. The nipple is red, abused-looking, swollen. Armie wants to kiss it, but knows to leave well alone. 

Timmy’s breathing is ragged, catching more now, and Armie kisses his ribs, taking care not to brush too close to his chest. 

“Okay, baby. You’re doing so good. So good.” Armie eases off the other clamp, and reaches over to drop the chain onto the nightstand.  _ “There.” _ Armie settles next to Timmy, hands at his slim waist. Lets his thumbs stroke back and forth, slow comforting arcs of touch. “There. My perfect boy. My Timmy.” 

And Timmy’s eyes spill at that, overbright green becoming a flood of tears in a stifled gasp of breath. He rolls onto his side, hands clumsy but trying to cover his face. 

A rush of fear and sympathy, and Armie follows;  _ did I do something wrong, did I fuck it up— _

He tries to stay calm.  _ It’s very common for people to cry as they come down from the rush of subspace, it’s most likely normal— _

He cups the back of Timmy’s head. Strokes his hair, his nape, his spine. Long, soothing strokes, up and down Timmy’s back. “Okay Tim. Okay. Talk to me when you can, alright? I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m always here.” 

Timmy curls further in on himself; he’s shaking, shivering, as if he’s cold. 

Carefully, Armie lies down next to him. Pulls Timmy gently in against his chest, and keeps stroking his back. Keeps murmuring nonsense, until Timmy’s sobs calm and only hitches in his breath are left. 

“Okay baby. That’s good. That’s so good. There’s my Timmy.” Armie kisses the top of Timmy’s head. 

“’M’not good,” mumbles Timmy. “’M’crying, like a dumbass.” 

Armie huffs a laugh which is more than half relief.  _ He’s okay. He’s okay.  _ “When I tell you you’re good, you are,” he says, firmly. “Yeah?” 

He feels Timmy nod. Feels his face crumple against Armie’s neck like he’s going to cry again. Feels the quick pull of Timmy’s breath, the rise and fall of his chest. 

Armie pulls him close, and squeezes him tight. “You want a shower? Tea? Water?” 

Timmy shakes his head. Presses his face into Armie’s neck and clings closer. “I felt…” he trails off, like he can’t find the words. 

_ This is important, baby.  _ Armie brushes a kiss to Timmy’s temple. “That’s good. Tell me. I want to know.” 

“I trusted you,” Timmy mumbles, at last. He sounds sleepy now. “It’s like you were the only…I—I’ve never—felt like that before.” 

Armie swallows. His eyes prickle.  _ I love you  _ wants to fight from his lips, but he pushes it back.  _ Not now. Not now. He’s only half here.  _ “Did you feel good?” he asks, calmly. “Did you want anything different?” 

Timmy shakes his head, just a tiny movement. “I wanted—I wanted it to hurt more, so much more, but I think maybe—it’s—good? That it didn’t. This time.” He takes a shaky little breath. “But you—knew that, though? Better than me.” 

Armie lets his voice fall to a deep, quiet rumble. Timmy is relaxed in his arms, heavy and warm. “Sometimes when people are out of it they get kind of—euphoric. Think they can handle anything. We’ll work up to everything you want though, baby. We’ll figure out what you can handle. I’ll get experienced enough to know exactly what you want. Need.” 

Timmy’s fingers curl against Armie’s neck, thumb stroking absently at the dip at its base. “’M’tired,” he mumbles.

“Sleep,” murmurs Armie. “You want to be teaspoon?” 

“Yeah.” Timmy nods, a tiny movement. 

They shift and turn, sharing a pillow. Armie turns out the light, then draws Timmy close, arm protective across his chest. 

“Stay with me?” mumbles Timmy. 

“Of course I will. I’m right here.” 

There are long moments of quiet, and Armie wonders if Timmy’s fallen asleep. 

“I—want that, Armie. I want you to learn everything. I want you to know—me.” It’s a sleep-heavy whisper.

Armie swallows. Closes his eyes tight and presses his forehead to the back of Timmy’s head. “You can have anything you want, baby.  _ Anything.” _


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep safe and well guys. I love you for reading. x

Distant noises of puppy excitement are the first thing Armie hears in the morning, followed by the thud of the apartment door. 

Gratefully he buries his face in the pillow, knowing that Timmy’s taken the early shift. 

He vaguely registers the door again when they return; followed by the sounds of messy puppy breakfast, then the squeak of a ball, and the scrabble of claws giving chase. 

He lets himself drift a little more, expecting an armful of warm, happy Tim. Expecting kisses, and news of the puppies, and possibly a mug of coffee. 

Armie’s not sure how much later it is that he pulls himself properly from sleep, but something feels  _ off; _ Timmy’s not back, and Armie can hear quiet whining. 

Dragging himself out of bed, he throws on yesterday’s clothes, and goes to see what’s happening. 

The morning light is grey-tinged; either it’s earlier than he’d realized, or it’s going to be a rare rainy day. 

Timmy’s sitting on the floor by the sofa, back to Armie. He’s wearing jeans and a ratty old grey hoodie of Armie’s, one that’s only ever used for the gym nowadays. 

Livs is whining quietly, trying desperately to lick Timmy’s face. 

Timmy, Armie suddenly realizes, has Archie in his arms. His face is buried in the thick, wiry fur at the back of Archie’s neck. With his left hand he’s caressing the scruff on Livvy’s chest, trying to calm her. 

His body language is wrong: small and hunched. 

Alarm strikes cold in Armie’s chest. He hears a quiet sniff. Livs whines again, then notices Armie and takes a few steps towards him, turning back to Timmy after a moment as if to say  _ there’s something wrong, look, come here, look— _

Timmy must notice Livs’ change in behavior, because he wipes fiercely at his eyes, his cheeks, scrubbing at them with the palm of his left hand. 

“Tim…” Armie steps in close. He rests his fingertips on the nape of Timmy’s neck, squatting down behind him. “Baby…”

“’M’fine,” mumbles Timmy. The part of his face that Armie can see is blotched red; clearly he’s been crying for a while. “Honestly, ’m’fine—” 

“Clearly,” murmurs Armie. He presses his lips to the nape of Timmy’s neck. “Livs is worried about you.” 

“Livs is a dumbass.” The way Timmy reaches out to stroke her ears belies his words. 

Armie huffs quiet amusement against Timmy’s shoulder. “I’m worried too.” 

“Well you’re a—” Timmy gives a wet little laugh as Armie pokes him in the back. He takes a shaky breath. “’M’sorry,” he manages, after a minute. “This is dumb.” 

“What, having emotions?” 

“Yup.” Timmy presses his face into Archie’s neck again. “Really fucking dumb.” 

Armie’s legs are getting tired. He moves from squatting to sitting cross-legged, covering Timmy’s nape with his hand. Nerves are a cold, squirming ball in his stomach. He swallows. “Can you talk to me about it?” he asks, quietly. 

“’S’nothing, Armie,” Timmy says, too quickly. “Seriously, it’s just—nothing.” 

Armie squeezes his eyes closed for a second. Tries to think of what to say. “It’s not—last night was pretty intense—and…?” 

_ “No,” _ Timmy says emphatically, and this time he sounds totally sincere. He lets go of Archie, who bounces out of his lap, barreling into Livvy’s side. “No, I—last night was so good, honestly—”

Armie touches Timmy’s back; runs his hand up under the hood of his ratty old sweater. Splays his fingers there. “Tim…” 

Timmy swallows, but he doesn’t look round. “Although I never did anything for  _ you,  _ so maybe we should go back to bed—” there’s a brittleness to his voice, even though he’s trying to sound relaxed. 

_ “Tim.”  _ Armie tightens his fingers just a little, presses his palm against Timmy’s back. “Listen, if—if you don’t want to talk, I get it, but—I need to. I think. And maybe it’s a fucking  _ stupid  _ idea, maybe I’m about to fuck everything up, but—” his breath catches. He closes his eyes. Tries to breathe and compose himself. “Is that—will you—just listen, or—”

_ “Yes.”  _ Timmy sounds dismayed by Armie’s uncertainty. “Armie—” he takes a shaky breath and shuffles around, cross-legged too, overlapping his knees with Armie’s. “Of course.” 

Armie glances briefly up at Timmy’s face; his lips and eyes are swollen, reddened in the aftermath of tears. 

Armie wants to kiss him, and knows he might be about to lose the right. 

He takes Timmy’s hands, weaving their fingers together. His own are shaking, a little clumsy. 

Armie takes a breath. “I’m—probably going to fuck this up,” he says, on a half-laugh. “Because I haven’t really done this…so. Sorry.” 

_ And I haven’t, have I? With Liz—we dated, and everything followed easily because we were together at college, and then it seemed natural to get a place together afterwards. There was never really a moment where I had to make some big romantic declaration, and even for the proposal I wasn’t nervous at all, because I knew she wanted the ring and the flowers and the meal at her favorite restaurant, and I was pretty sure she’d say yes, and maybe all of that really should’ve been an indicator that things weren’t right, that I just didn't feel enough— _

Timmy’s nose scrunches in confusion, and despite his nerves, Armie wants to kiss it. 

“Fuck.” Armie sighs. Closes his eyes for a second. When he reopens them, he stares down at their joined hands. “I know we haven’t really—talked about it much, but I—after this week.” He swallows. “I’m—not looking forward to Monday.” He huffs a bitter little laugh at himself. “And…that’s an understatement.” 

Timmy squeezes Armie’s hands, and Armie takes a breath. 

“I…didn’t expect any of this, Tim.” 

“Neither did I.” Timmy says it quickly, like he feels he’s interrupting. Like he’s worried he might stop Armie talking. 

Armie manages another glance up at Timmy’s face. His red-rimmed eyes are sharp green in the morning light. There’s a pink flush along his cheekbones that doesn’t look like the result of crying. 

“I know, and I…” Armie shakes his head. “It sounds dumb, probably, but I’m so fucking  _ grateful  _ for—for everything, really, but—with my mom, and—I dont know how I would’ve got through it without—you.” 

Timmy drops his gaze; stares down at their hands. Half-shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything—” 

“You did.” Armie pulls their hands closer to his body, an emphatic little tug. “Fuck, I—don’t even know how to say it. But it means—a lot. That you were here, like that. For me.” 

Timmy blinks, and bites his lip. 

“And it’s—I know we joke about—pizza in New York, and—and going to Paris, or the Caymans—” Armie’s fighting the tightness in his chest. His breathing’s off, making it hard to force the words out. Fear squirms in the pit of his stomach. “But I—I fucking  _ hate  _ that you’re leaving, and I.” Stuck, he takes a long, slow breath. Pushes on, because he  _ has to. _ “Fuck, I don’t want to seem like a creep but I—I looked at New York. At—shit, acting courses, even though I know it’s a pipe dream, but—and real estate—” he stares at Timmy’s fingernails, not daring to look up at his face. “I don’t want to put all this pressure on—because—you’re  _ young, _ and—but I can’t let you go, without—if I was in New York more, would you—would you want to keep—seeing me? Or—you don’t have to say yes, and it’s—I know it’s—a lot—” he swallows. “It’s just. I’m not even sure what we are, but. I’d—want anything that you’d give me, I guess.” 

Slowly, Armie looks up. 

Timmy’s staring at him, expression indecipherable. He blinks, long eyelashes fluttering against his flushed, tear-blotched cheeks. “You’d—leave LA?” he says, at last. His voice sounds almost hoarse. 

Armie gives him a quick, helpless half-smile. “I’d probably go pretty much anywhere,” he says, with a lightness he doesn’t feel. 

Livvy noses her way into Timmy’s face, trying to lick at the salt. Armie distracts her with a squeaky toy, sending both puppies chasing away. 

They share a tentative little smile, watching the puppies scramble. 

Timmy bites at his bottom lip. “I love that you looked at acting courses,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a soft edge to his voice, and it tugs behind Armie’s heart. 

“I mean, who knows if—”

“Don’t do that.” This time it’s Timmy tugging at their joined hands. “You’re always  _ way _ too hard on yourself.” He sounds very New York right now, accent strong.

Archie brings the ball, and Armie throws it again. 

“The answer’s yes,” adds Timmy, looking up obliquely at Armie. “I’d—yes. If you were in New York.” 

Armie’s heart thumps in his chest. He takes a breath. 

“But I—” Timmy’s words come quickly now, the usual tumble of speech that happens when he’s nervous. “I guess I—had a bad experience with—moving across the country for someone. And I’m—I wasn’t—what if I’m not _enough? _Again?” His breath catches on that, and he bites his lip. Armie recognizes the signs of _I said too much. _

“Fuck.” Armie lifts Timmy’s hands and rests his cheek against the backs of them for a second. “It’s—I know it’s a lot of pressure, but—I guess I’m…” He stops, and tries to figure out how to say what he knows is true. “I know I can sit here telling you how much I—that you  _ are  _ enough, and I’ll always want you, and—and I guess he said that shit too. So maybe it wouldn’t mean much, because that’s the kind of shit you prove over  _ time, _ not…not just  _ say _ —but. I don’t really want this to be some thing where we—meet up and fuck sometimes, when we’re in the same city I mean, and—” he takes a breath. “Me being in New York would buy me  _ time.  _ To show you I mean it. To prove—what I want. And—” he adds quickly, “it’s about me, too. I don’t have this great attachment to LA, like you have with New York. I don’t—feel much for it. I’ve had happy times here, and I have friends here, but I’ve also…” he pauses, trying to find the right words.  _ ‘Lived a lie’ sounds so fucking dramatic.  _ “Been—not myself. Here.” 

_ You help me be myself. You give me the best possible reason to try.  _

“So you’d—quit your job?” asks Timmy. He pulls Armie’s hands into his lap like he’s hoarding them. Looks around. “Sell your apartment?” 

Armie half-shrugs. “Or let it out. Either way.” 

“What, and—buy somewhere? In the city?” 

Armie nods. “Probably rent somewhere first. Get a feel for the city, the neighborhoods. Then buy.” 

“Shit.” Timmy gives him an oblique little grin on a head-shake. “Sometimes I forget you’re fucking rich.” 

“Maybe because you only steal my worst clothes.” Armie disentangles his right hand and tugs at the neck of his ratty old hoodie. “I should throw this away.” 

“Don’t.” Timmy wraps his arms around himself, pulling the sweater away from Armie’s touch. “I love this hoodie.” 

Armie smiles, and suddenly Timmy’s smiling too.

Pulling the sleeves of Armie’s hoodie down over his hands, Timmy bunches them in his palms. Bounces his fists restlessly on Armie’s knees. “I didn’t want to leave,” he admits, rapid-fire. “I mean—not really LA, just—you.” 

Armie’s heart clenches.  _ I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go.  _ “Good,” he says, on a grin. “Fucking—good.” 

Timmy snorts a little laugh. Grimaces in his  _ this is awkward  _ way. “So would you want to be…in a relationship?” he mumbles. “If—when—at home, I mean—” 

“Yes. Fuck.” Armie’s relief and disbelief are making him sound more confident, louder. “Christ, Tim.  _ Please  _ give us a label.” 

Timmy giggles. His eyes are very hazel, crinkled at the edges. He leans in to rest his forehead on Armie’s shoulder for a second. “Well I told my mom we’re dating…so. Boyfriends?” he says it tentatively,  _ friends _ a long flat syllable. 

“Boyfriends.” Armie grabs Timmy’s hand, excavates it from the hoodie sleeve, and presses a kiss into the palm. “I like boyfriends.” 

Timmy curls his fingers like he’s keeping in the kiss. “Can we go to bed?” he asks, in another impulsive rush of words. “I just—I guess I want to talk. And I.” 

Armie nods. “I’ll make the puppies up a couple Kongs. Keep them occupied.” 

While he stuffs cream cheese, carrot and treats into two Kong toys, the puppies whine excitedly and wag and try to jump up to see. Once he puts the toys down, they’re immediately totally absorbed. 

In the bedroom, Timmy’s curled under the duvet. He grins, minty-fresh when Armie dips down to kiss him. 

“You brushed your teeth—”

“Oh, come back—”

“I’m not being the morning breath monster in this relationship.” Armie shuts himself in the bathroom to brush his teeth. Running cold-water hands over his face, he stares at himself in the mirror. 

_ Relationship. _

_ Boyfriend.  _

He’s almost dizzy with it. He tries and fails not to grin at himself like a fucking weirdo.

Under the duvet, Timmy’s still wearing Armie’s hoodie, hands still clutched into the sleeves.

Their legs tangle together, and Armie claims the minty kiss he’d abandoned before. 

Timmy’s sleeve-hands curl together on Armie’s chest. “I want to see the courses you found.” 

Armie smiles. He feels himself flush.  _ They might not be right,  _ he wants to say. Or,  _ they probably won’t work on my complete lack of talent.  _ But Timmy wouldn’t want to hear that, because he thinks Armie’s too hard on himself. “They’re bookmarked on my laptop,” he says, instead. 

“I can’t believe this is real,” mumbles Timmy, blinking up at Armie from behind a few wayward curls. 

Armie smoothes them back, tucking them behind Timmy’s ear. Half-shakes his head.  _ Neither can I.  _ “I wanted to talk to you before,” he says. He slips his hand under the hoodie, lays it flat against Timmy’s warm belly. “But I,” he swallows, “didn’t know if it’d—fuck everything up. So. I kept…waiting.” 

Timmy kisses him again, a quick impulsive press of lips. “I guess I kind of have…worries?” he says, wonky awkward grimace in place again. “Not about you,” he adds quickly. “About—me.”

“Let’s talk about them,” says Armie, quickly.  _ Fuck. Let’s just keep talking.  _

Timmy’s sleeve-wrapped hand pets at the base of Armie’s neck. “I...you said about—about proving it, not just saying shit…and I know right now you think I’ll be—enough, but—” he pauses, and his lips part like he’s going to speak, but then he hesitates, frowning, thinking. “I guess I feel like you haven’t seen  _ me _ —at home, yet, with—with my friends and…” he bites his lip. “I’m just a dumb  _ kid, _ Armie, I don’t have an apartment, I don’t even have a job now, I turn my bedroom into a bombsite in minutes, I make stupid joke shit with my friends and play video games too much and my acting career’s probably never going to go anywhere so I’ll probably  _ always  _ be like, struggling for money and I—I get why you’d want someone more—who’s—actually, like, settled and knows what they’re fucking  _ doing—” _

“Like Liz?” asks Armie, re-tucking the stubborn curl that’s escaped from behind Timmy’s ear again. “Because she was all of that, Tim. But I wanted—” he shakes his head. “You  _ know  _ I wanted everything to change.” 

Timmy hesitates. “But…was it just.” He takes a breath, like he’s marshalling courage. “Was it just that she was a woman?” he asks at last. “Won’t you—wouldn’t you—end up wanting a guy who’s not. You know. A mess?” 

“A mess.” Armie laughs wonderingly, grabbing Timmy’s sleeve-covered hands. Pulling them up to frame his own face. “Fuck. You’ve  _ seen _ my mess, baby. You’re a million times less of a mess than me.” 

Timmy half-laughs, a rueful little huff. “Armie. When we met I was like,  _ barely  _ sleeping. I was so anxious I was having panic attacks  _ daily. _ With—with Livs, and work, and Léo, and—and money, and  _ everything _ —” he shakes his head. “I thought I’d have to give up the play, let it go to understudy, I wanted to just—go home to New York, to my mom, say fuck being an actor, fuck dating—” he shakes his head, then swallows. “I. You have no idea how much you…” trailing off, he doesn’t seem to be able to find the right words. 

Armie pulls Timmy’s fingers free of the hoodie sleeves. Kisses their tips. “You changed  _ everything  _ for me.” It’s all he can think to say. 

Timmy closes his eyes. Presses his forehead to Armie’s cheek. “Can I ask you something that’s—it might feel, uh…fucking insulting? Maybe? But. It’s not meant to be—that. I’m just. Afraid.” 

And right now, Armie feels strong; maybe stronger than he ever has in his entire life. “Yes,” he murmurs, because he wants to hear every fear Timmy has. Every joy. Every thought. 

“I’m.” Timmy struggles, hesitating. Pulls back and catches Armie’s gaze, like he’s forcing himself to speak. “What if…it’s just. You’ve never been with any other guys, so. What if you just don’t—know who else is out there?” He winces as he says it, turning his head to the side. “Like—how good someone else could be? For you?” 

_ Fuck. Has he been thinking like this all along?  _ Armie wonders. And suddenly he realizes:  _ he was always worrying, exactly like I was.  _

_ How self-centered I’ve been.  _ It dissolves through him, warm and cool in his veins all at once.  _ He’s been worrying like I was.  _

_ And maybe—he cares, like I do.  _

“I was talking to Jane yesterday,” Armie says. Telling the truth like this feels perilously wonderful. “And I said I can’t—I can’t even figure out a label for my sexuality right now, because—all I can think about is  _ you.” _ He half-shakes his head, unable to subdue the smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “It’s—of course that changes, over time, after a few years in a relationship of  _ course _ you notice other people more but it’s not—you’re  _ funny,  _ Tim, and you’re fucking—whip-smart, and I love the way you talk, and your acting is—shit, I don’t even know what to say about that, you’re incredible—and I just. I want to hear your opinions about everything, always, and  _ that’s  _ the shit that matters in the end. That's what—lasts.” He presses his lips to Timmy’s knuckles, stopping the flow of words. 

Timmy blinks. He’s blushing, chewing his lip, but he frowns like he’s determined to be honest about every fear. “I thought maybe. That you wanted…I mean, you knew I was going to be leaving, so. I thought maybe I was…a safe place to start. With guys. And then I’d be gone.” He mumbles the words, fast, like he’s ashamed. 

And Armie’s eyes sting, his throat tightens, but he huffs a laugh instead of crying. “You know what I  _ also  _ told Jane? That I worried I was someone—someone for before you left. A palate cleanser. After what that  _ asshole  _ did to you. And by the way, if he  _ ever _ visits New York—” 

Timmy’s smiling but his eyes are red-rimmed, wide, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking  _ idiot,  _ why didn’t you just  _ ask  _ me—” his voice is deep, fonder than Armie knows how to deal with.

“Talking of idiots—” Armie’s heart is pounding in his chest, and the only thing he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. He pinches Timmy’s chin between finger and thumb.  _ “You _ have no fucking idea.” His voice skates the thin edge between tears and laughter. “I can’t believe—and all the time—” he stops, breath catching on the desperate pace of his heart—

Timmy’s eyes, soft-fringed and hazel, are still wide. His lips part on a silent  _ Armie,  _ but Armie has to say it, he has to say it  _ now—  _

“I’m so in love with you,” he manages, and the weight he’s carried in his chest for weeks lifts a little, so he says it again. “I am so fucking in love with you.” He gathers Timmy’s hands together. “And it’s okay if you’re not, and I hope it doesn’t—fuck anything up, but I had to tell you, and—”

“I’m in love with you too, dumbass,” says Timmy hoarsely. His eyes are too bright, tears ready to spill again. “I just—for the longest time I—I thought it was too soon, I  _ couldn’t  _ be, but this is  _ different,  _ Armie, it’s different than it ever was before, with—and I didn’t—I didn’t know what I’d do when I got home—” 

“Don’t, I—” Armie half-shakes his head. “Fucking— _ Monday, _ Tim, who the fuck thought that was a good idea—” and they’re giggling, both of them, because even though Timmy’s getting on a plane on Monday, Armie’ll get on a plane too someday soon, and there’ll be New York, together, and  _ Timmy loves me, he’s in love with me too— _

“Kiss me you asshole,” mumbles Timmy, and Armie pinches his chin again.

“You just called me a dumbass and an asshole, after I told you I  _ love  _ you—”

“I told you I love you too, and I mean in my defence, you  _ are _ both of those things.” 

“Little fucker.” 

_ “Kiss. Me.  _ Fuck, is this what it’s going to be like? Me just like, having to  _ beg  _ for affection? Or—” Timmy giggles as Armie cuts him off with a bruising kiss. 

Armie bites at Timmy’s bottom lip, licks into his mouth. Wraps him into his arms and pulls him close, a crushing hug. Rolls Timmy on top of him, luxuriating in the weight of his skinny body.

“You know I have a lot of worries too,” Armie rumbles, when they separate. 

Timmy smoothes both hands over Armie’s hair. Frames his face and smooshes his cheeks. “I’ll listen to your dumbass worries,” he says, loftily. 

Armie snorts and bites him on the chin. “Great. Thanks.” He takes a breath. “I’m a  _ decade  _ older than you—” 

“Don’t start with that,” grins Timmy, but his hand curves gently to Armie’s cheek. His thumb follows the line of Armie’s cheekbone, his eyebrow. His eyes are gold, tender. 

Armie rolls his eyes. “When I’m forty you’ll be thirty, and I’ll be getting old and—”

“—still hot as fuck, and anyway I’ll be thirty-one—” 

“—and do you really want some old guy hanging out with your friends—” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re immature enough to fit in—” and Timmy crumples at the waist where Armie digs his fingers in, giggling, pressing his face to Armie’s neck. 

Armie continues, “And, friends, yeah well  _ that’s  _ a thing, I mean I know a couple people from business school who live in New York but I can’t say I’d exactly want to look them up, I don’t have family who’ll want to know me, I won’t have a network there, I’ll be very dependent on you and it might be way too much pressure, you’re  _ twenty-one  _ and there’ll be this old lonely dude—” 

“Shut up shut up shut  _ up.”  _ Timmy frames Armie’s face with his hands again. “You’re literally so fucking horrible to yourself, and I hate it.” He nuzzles Armie’s cheek with his lips. “Please please stop with that shit.” Taking a calmer breath, he presses a kiss to the corner of Armie’s mouth. “You’re like, so friendly, Armie. You don’t even notice but everywhere you go people love being around you. Even at fucking puppy class, people want to talk to you. I mean, it helps that you’re like this, this chiselled  _ god,  _ but even so, I think it’s mostly your personality.” He giggles and twists as Armie pokes him again. “And acting—it forms these crazy intense bonds like, so fast. You’ll have ten friends from your first class in a week. And sure, some of them won’t last, but some of them will.” He grins. “And some of them will be hot guys, and I will hate them on sight.” 

Armie snorts a little laugh, rolls his eyes, then sighs. “I’ll still just—always be so much older than you. And—what will your family think? Your friends? I just—imagine them not being exactly thrilled.” 

“Did my mom  _ seem  _ not thrilled?” asks Timmy, brushing his thumb across Armie’s lips. “She really likes you. She just didn’t know if you were going to break my heart too,” he adds, with an ironical little smile. “But. Apparently you are not planning to do that.” 

_ Break my heart.  _ Armie feels dizzy with it. 

“Yeah I’d…really like to not do that,” he says quietly, and kisses Timmy on the lips. 

“You realize I’m going to have a billion other worries?” mumbles Timmy, into the kiss. 

“You realize  _ I’m _ going to?” Armie counters, chasing Timmy’s lips, pulling him into another, deeper kiss. Then, “what if your dad hates me?” 

Timmy snorts. “What if…I’m an adult who can make up his own mind about who he dates?” he asks. “But also, he won’t, because you love reading and are ridiculously fucking intelligent and you play piano and he barely ever plays their piano but he loves it, and my parents don’t give a shit about this but if you want to look at the traditional stuff I’m sure you have very good  _ investments—” _ he buries his face in Armie’s neck as Armie tickles his stomach. “You  _ have  _ to stop tickling me.” 

“But it works so well.” 

“Uh-huh. What if  _ I _ hate you because you tickled me too much, huh? Have you considered that?” 

“All I hear is, you hate me because I’m so old.” 

“Now I legitimately hate you because you’re being an asshole to yourself again—”

“Why would you just  _ keep _ talking about how old I am?” 

“I hate you…” groans Timmy, pressing his face to Armie’s shoulder. He lets Armie hug him tight. Reaches up and scrunches his fingers in Armie’s short hair. “I need you to fuck me.” 

“Even though you hate me?” asks Armie, trying not to let his breath catch. 

“Yes,” Timmy murmurs, pressing his lips softly to Armie’s. “Exactly. Because that.” He grins against Armie’s cheek. “And Armie…”

“Yes, baby?” asks Armie mock-exasperatedly, because he can tell Timmy’s about to say something cheeky. 

“I need you to really  _ hammer  _ me, okay?” asks Timmy, but he can’t even finish the sentence without starting to laugh. 

“Nope. No. Sorry. Can’t fuck you now.” 

“Oh, babe, why not—” 

“Erection gone. Permanently. Never coming back.” 

“I mean.” Timmy wriggles against him.  _ “That’s _ a lie.” He grins slightly, and teases across Armie’s bottom lip with the very tip of his tongue. “I can feel it.” 

“That’s an illusion.” 

“So you’re saying it’s not your dick in your pocket, it’s, like, a hamm—” 

“Funny how you want to be my boyfriend but you also want us to  _ never have sex again.”  _

“You know, I think if we tried you’d find we could. I could just ride you a  _ bit  _ and we could see how it goes.” 

“I don’t think that’ll work.” 

“I think it will.” Timmy bites Armie’s bottom lip. “Let’s try, babe. Let’s try.” 

“Did I mention that  _ I _ also hate  _ you?” _

“Oh, that’s fine. Because like, hate-sex is totally a thing, you know.” Timmy presses Armie’s hands into the pillow, weaving their fingers together. 

And it takes them a minute to kiss properly, because neither of them can stop grinning.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Stay safe and well, guys. x

Armie presses Timmy back against the door of his car, and kisses him slowly. They're alone in the cool, empty parking garage under Armie's building. 

"Mmm," hums Timmy happily, into the kiss.

Armie smiles, arm slipping around Timmy's waist. Kisses along the line of Timmy's jaw. 

Timmy's grin lights up his whole face. He rubs his fingers through Armie's hair. "We should go. My mom's going to _ roast _me for not being there to do my own packing." 

Armie huffs a laugh, though his stomach clenches at the thought of annoying Nicole, at the thought of turning up late. He and Timmy both have that telltale freshly-fucked, freshly-showered look. "Guessing I'm not going to be her favorite person." 

"Why?" Timmy frowns as he walks around the car and opens the driver's door. In the back seat, the puppies strain at their seatbelts, seeking attention. 

Armie settles himself in his seat. _ Never been driven by Tim before. _"You know…" he shrugs. "I kind of...uh. Kept you. This morning." 

Timmy gives him a radiant grin. "She'll tease us for sure, but she won't _ actually _be pissed." 

Armie tries to imagine that kind of comfort and certainty; that kind of confidence in your mom's good will. 

Timmy grabs Armie's hand; pulls it onto his thigh and settles it there. "You have to return the favor, now _ I'm _ driving _ you." _

Armie wiggles his eyebrows. “Favor, huh?” 

Waiting for the garage gates to open, Timmy rolls his eyes. “I mean if you _ want _ to, babe—” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and Armie mourns the fact that he can’t lean over and try to kiss it.

Armie laughs and squeezes Timmy’s thigh. “How long’s it been? A half-hour?” 

Timmy’s hand comes to rest gently on top of Armie’s as they join the traffic. 

*

“And what time do you call this?” asks Nicole. She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she bends down to greet the puppies. “Oh my goodness who’s this? Who’s _ this?” _she asks, already cradling Archie’s face and caressing his ears as he bounces up and down. She kneels down to let the puppies adore her at close range. 

“Mom, don’t let them lick your face,” says Timmy urgently. “We’ve been training them not to—” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” she says, talking to Livvy now. “Nasty Dad says you can’t lick my face, doesn’t he, yes, what a horrible dad—”

Timmy just pokes her in the shoulder on the way past, running himself a glass of water at the sink. 

Armie looks around, hunching his shoulders and pushing his hands awkwardly into his pockets. The apartment is in disarray, with piles of stuff everywhere. 

Nicole is watching him. “Always looks worse before it’s done.” 

Nodding, Armie rounds his shoulders a little more. “Give me something to do.” 

“Ha.” Nicole stands up, fending off puppies, and looks around at Timmy. “He’s using his vacation days for _ this?” _

Timmy glances at Armie through his eyelashes. Shrugs. “He’s the best.” His smile turns more mischievous. “Also we only brought my car, so he’s trapped here. Might as well put him to work, right?” He puts his glass in the sink and crosses back to Armie’s side, pulling up short next to him. 

Armie realizes Timmy had been about to wrap his arms around his waist. 

_ He loves me. _

_ He’s my boyfriend. _

_ And he doesn’t want to push me. _

Taking a breath, Armie pulls his hand from his pocket and rests it gently in the small of Timmy’s back. Rubs his thumb back and forth. It makes his chest tighten to express affection in front of Timmy’s mom, but he wants to try. “So how do things work around here?” he asks, looking around. “I’m guessing there is actually order in the chaos?” 

“Pfff,” huffs Nicole. “I feel like I’m losing track.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes fondly, and points to three areas. “Definitely throwing out pile, definitely keeping pile, can’t decide pile. The trash bags have shit that we can’t even donate in them.”

“You’re throwing out a lot.” Armie turns, looking around. “Hey, whoa.” He takes a step and picks up a sweater from the throw-away pile. It’s brown and blue striped, with short sleeves. “You’re throwing this out?” 

In his mind’s eye, he sees Timmy again, sipping his coffee on the bench the morning after they first kissed. Remembers him saying _I'm not expecting anything._

Today Timmy—_ my boyfriend Timmy, who loves me _—gives Armie a look. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the edges with a smile. 

“I mean. I have nicer sweaters.” He shrugs. 

“Sorry. Nope.” Armie snags the sweater from the pile and slings it over his shoulder.

“Well, this doesn’t bode well,” sighs Nicole. She’s shaking her head, trying not to smile. “I thought you were meant to be helping?” 

Armie feels himself blush. He glances at Timmy. _ She’s just joking, she’s just joking— _

Timmy grins. “I mean if it’s at his house, Mom, it’s not like you have to worry about it.” 

Nicole pets Livvy’s ears. Archie’s sniffing around the ‘can’t decide’ pile on the sofa. “I’m going to put coffee on,” says Nicole decidedly. “Then we’ll get started. I think we need to get some of this stuff out of here today, it’s a mess and it’s getting so we can’t work.” She turns away. 

Timmy reaches up and runs his palm across the sweater on Armie’s shoulder. Touches Armie’s chin with his thumb; gives him a quick inquisitive look. “Thought it was me that stole _ your _shit,” he whispers. “I mean, I’d love to see you in it, but I don’t think those guns are gonna fit—”

“No way you’re throwing this out,” murmurs Armie in return. “You wore this to the park. The morning after…” 

And Timmy’s eyes are soft golden green. He rests his hand on Armie’s chest. Bites his lip against a smile. 

“I’ll bring it to New York with me,” says Armie firmly, and he loves the way Tim’s cheeks flood with color. 

Half-shaking his head, Timmy punches Armie softly on the chest. “Fucking…romantic,” he mumbles. 

“Archie _ no,” _says Armie, starting towards him. “Drop—drop, Arch, you—drop—” he grabs Archie’s collar and waits, looking him in the eye. After a very long delay, Archie begrudgingly drops the pair of socks.

Nicole and Timmy laugh. 

“That was _ not _ easy for him,” says Nicole, still grinning. 

Armie whisks the socks out from under Archie’s nose. “Oh, yeah. I feel like this is going to happen a lot today.” 

“At least Arch actually drops shit when you ask him to,” sighs Timmy. “Instead of turning it into a game of tug like _ someone _we know.”

“Ha. That one was kind of a fluke.” Armie throws the socks on top of the pile, out of puppy reach. “Anyway Livs is getting pretty good with fetch. She gives up the ball most times—”

“I mean. _ Sometimes,” _ says Timmy, rubbing Livvy’s head. She licks his hand. “Not _ that _ often.” He looks down at her and caresses her ear. “Little dumbass.” 

“You can’t talk to my grandchild like that.” 

“Believe me, you will too soon enough, Mom.” 

"Never." 

"Even when she grabs your socks out of the dryer?" 

Nicole pours the coffee, smiling to herself. 

*

Hours later, they've made a dent in the mess. Timmy and Armie have made a couple donation trips while Nicole looked after the puppies and kept working. 

By five in the afternoon Armie is tired and—he suddenly realizes—hungry. 

"Starving," he mumbles, to Timmy. "Probably going to get hangry soon." 

Timmy gives him a cheeky little grin. "Oh shit. You need salad?" 

Armie scoffs. "Carbs. Meat." 

"Mo-om," Timmy says, sing-song. "We're starving to death." 

Under the coffee table, the puppies look up, but settle again immediately. They're conked out, curled together, overloaded with new scents, sounds and experiences. 

_ They're going to miss each other so much, _thinks Armie involuntarily. Fiercely, he shoves away the thought. 

"Oof." Nicole sighs, dropping a bag of stuff for Timmy to sort through next to the sofa. "Let's stop then." 

"Craving ramen." Timmy has his phone out. "You want me to order? Armie and I can pick it up." 

“Sure. At least it’s not pizza,” she says, groaning slightly as she rolls her shoulders and stretches out her neck. She takes a seat on the sofa and checks her phone.

Timmy hands Armie his phone. “What do you want, babe?” The endearment slips out naturally, without fear or fuss. 

Armie’s cheeks tint with it; his gaze wants to slide sideways to check on Nicole’s reaction, but he stares at the phone instead. “Whatever has the most meat in,” he huffs, on a laugh. “Uh—spicy red miso ramen. And chicken karaage.” He passes the phone back. 

“Nice. Chicken _ and _two types of pork.” Timmy grins. “Mom?” 

Armie kneels to stop Archie from sleepily chewing on Livs’ ear, and by the time he’s paying attention again, Timmy has strolled away into the kitchen to order their food. 

Nicole is yawning and texting someone, but she looks up and smiles at Armie. Gestures with her phone. “Timothée’s sister is planning her next trip back to New York.” 

Armie swallows. “From—Paris, right?”

Nodding, Nicole sighs slightly. “She loves it.” 

“She’s an actor and writer, Tim said?” Armie’s chest is tight with nerves. 

“For her latest project, she directed.” The pride is clear in Nicole’s voice. “A short film.” 

Armie swallows. _ I wonder when she’s going to visit. I wonder if I’ll meet her. _

_ When am I going to hand in my notice? _

_ For this family, creative achievements really matter. _ The thought feels alien. _ Nicole is proud of Tim’s sister for directing a film. _

“From what—yesterday, at brunch—it sounded like you visit her pretty often,” manages Armie. 

Nicole nods, slowly. “Marc—my husband—works in France part of the time.” She smiles. “We take advantage of it to go annoy our daughter. Have you visited Paris?” 

“For work, a couple times.” Armie swallows nervously. “Can’t say I’ve actually seen it properly, I guess—”

Timmy drops onto the sofa next to his mom, pushing aside a pile of towels. “Did you say Pauli’s visiting, Mom?” He slouches down, and rests his head on her shoulder. Stretches out his leg and molds his foot to the curve of Armie’s knee. 

And just like that, Armie’s part of a chain of easy, calm affection. He blinks. Takes a breath, and rests his hand lightly on Timmy’s foot. 

Nicole brushes a couple Timmy’s curls back from his face; settles her arm around him. “Just booking her flights. Five weeks, probably. She has a writing job until then.” 

Timmy grimaces. “At least one of your children is employed, huh?” 

Nicole huffs a quiet laugh. “You know what your grandma would say.” 

“You’re not unemployed, you’re _ resting—” _ they intone the last word together, and laugh. 

Armie can’t help but smile. 

“She was a Broadway dancer,” adds Timmy, catching Armie’s eye, and smiling. “So. She gets it.” 

Armie’s stomach squirms nervously, but he speaks anyway. “Did your agent see your last two reviews? Pretty sure you’re not going to have trouble finding something new.” 

Timmy’s cheeks tint pink, and he blinks. “I mean—yeah, he—” Fiddling bashfully with the zipper on Armie’s hoodie, Timmy shrugs. “But you know what it’s…it’s not like a job interview, you know? Like, sometimes you go to an audition and you can tell you’re not what they’re looking for like, immediately. And you feel like you’re fighting an uphill battle from the start, like maybe you could convince them, you know? If you just try hard enough. But most times…” he bites his lip. “Sorry. Shit, that’s _ super _encouraging—” 

Armie’s gaze flicks to Nicole, but she’s just watching Timmy affectionately. He can’t detect any trace of annoyance at the use of what his own mom would call ‘language’. 

“You’re going to get something great.” He says it quietly, and squeezes Timmy’s foot as he does. It’s hard, talking like this in front of Nicole; nearly three decades of experience have taught him that family is never a calm, relaxed situation. But he wants to try. He really, really _ needs _to try. “You didn’t hear the way people—uh, the audience—were talking about you at the play.” 

Nicole sighs, and strokes Timmy’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry we didn’t see it.” 

Timmy shakes his head. Tips his head back and looks up at her. _ “Mom. _ You have to stop—you would’ve if you could. I get it.” 

“But our baby’s big break—”

“Mo-om…” Timmy complains, but both he and Nicole are smiling. He turns his head further towards her for a second. 

“How long until the food?” 

Timmy checks the time on his phone. “We’ll go grab it soon.” 

Nicole nods. “I need to give your Dad a call. Leave the puppies here with me, he’ll want to see them.” 

Timmy huffs a laugh and catches Armie’s eye. “Watch out on Monday. Not sure Mom’s going to give Arch back.” 

Armie’s chest tightens with the usual dread of Timmy leaving; but he can’t help returning Tim’s smile, too, because _ it’s not the end. We’ll see each other in New York— _ “You assume I won’t have already stolen Livs,” he says, lightly. 

Nicole gives him a look over the top of her glasses. _ “Absolutely _ not.” 

Armie shrugs. “Well, if you’re taking Arch—”

Nicole’s shrewd eyes are full of amusement. “They’ll miss one another,” she says, bending down to tickle Archie behind the ear, and rub Livs’ back. 

Livs tramples into Armie’s lap, and he stops her in her tracks with the belly rubs she adores. 

Heart sinking, Armie can only nod in reply to Nicole’s comment. 

“They can FaceTime,” says Timmy, and his expression is a complicated muddle of emotions. His eyes seek Armie’s. 

“Of course they can,” says Nicole quietly, squeezing Timmy’s shoulder. “Now, food. My stomach’s making awful noises.” 

*

“My mom doesn’t know we—uh, we talked about—everything,” says Timmy. “I haven’t told her you might—that you’re going to—” he checks his mirrors as they change lanes.

Armie rubs his thumb in an arc across Timmy’s thigh. Smiles. “That what?” he prompts, and Timmy gives him a quick sidelong look.

“Are you trying to get me to say, ‘that we’re boyfriends now’?”

“Yep.” Armie grins. 

“Are you trying to get me to say, ‘she doesn’t know yet that I’m your boyfriend, Armie’?” 

“Yep.” 

“Fine. Mom doesn’t know yet that I, Timothée Hal Chalamet, am the boyfriend of one Armand Douglas Hammer, okay?” There’s a light flush on Tim’s cheekbones, and he’s biting back a grin. 

“Perfect, baby.” 

Timmy brushes his fingers across Armie’s hand. “You good?” 

Armie takes a breath. 

_ Be honest. _

“I—don’t find it easy,” he says, and it sounds casual, almost off-handed. “I mean—I guess you can tell that. But. It’s—even though your family are so different than mine, it’s—it’s like I can’t stop expecting—”

Timmy nods. Briefly tangles his fingers with Armie’s before he moves his hand to the gearshift. “That—I mean, I guess I really don’t expect that to change overnight, babe. Right?” He checks on Armie quickly, before fixing his gaze back on the road. “It seems like something that’s just—it’s gonna be like, another thing to learn over time? I guess?” 

Armie swallows down the lump in his throat. Blinks, and squeezes Timmy’s thigh. 

Gratitude feels like warmth in his chest. 

*

After such a long day of manual labor, the ramen tastes perfect. They eat in Timmy’s tiny kitchen, inhaling their food. 

“Needed this,” says Nicole, slurping up a noodle. She loops the end of it expertly onto her chopsticks and into her mouth. “I was so focused I didn’t realize I was starving until it was too late.” 

Timmy nods, snagging one of Armie’s fried chicken pieces, sticking his tongue out at Armie as he does it. 

Armie grins and rubs Timmy’s back. “Cheeky little—” 

“What? You have like a ton of pork to eat already—”

Armie steals a mushroom from Timmy’s bowl, earning himself a light shoulder shove. 

“We got rid of a lot today,” mumbles Timmy after a while, through a yawn. He’s fishing in his bowl with his chopsticks, getting ready to drink the remaining garlic soy. 

Nicole nods, pushing her bowl away. Stretching again, she rubs the back of her neck. “Your dad couldn’t believe how long it’s taking, when I talked to him earlier.” 

Timmy sighs. “When Léo…I mean, he took most of his shit with him, but there was a bunch of shared stuff…” he shrugs uncomfortably. “And now with everything for Livs, too. It’s just—a lot.” 

_ Léo. _ Armie’s belly knots itself jealously, wrenching at the thought of him. _ They shared a life here. _

He remembers the photograph on Timmy’s bedroom wall; remembers it disappearing before the first time he and Timmy shared a bed. _ Did he throw it away? Or just store it somewhere? _Armie pokes at a bean sprout in the remains of his ramen. 

“Don’t blame the puppy,” says Nicole, grinning knowingly at Tim. “If you didn’t have so many clothes—” 

Timmy rolls his eyes. Leans against Armie’s shoulder. “You know me, Mom.” 

She smiles. Catches Armie’s eye. “He was always like this. Coming up with money-making schemes, just so he could buy clothes.” 

“Boy’s gotta look good,” grins Timmy. He picks up his bowl and slurps. “Damn. That’s better.” 

They all look at the mess in the living area. “Did you call your friend?” asks Nicole. 

Timmy nods. “Texted her. Saoirse’s taking my car,” he adds, to Armie. “I figured I’d have to have it towed—like, honestly, who’s going to buy it—but she said she could use it.” 

“Damn.” Armie gives him a grin. “I was going to ask if I could just set it on fire.” 

Timmy snorts a laugh. “Okay okay, mister fancy SUV.” He slips his arm around Armie’s waist, hugging him side-on. “Was Papa okay, Mom?” 

She nods, finishing a mouthful of broth. “All good. He was at Grandma’s so we all talked. She’s beyond excited to have you back.” 

Timmy smiles, and Armie can see that he’s missed his family. It’s still strange to him, almost unbelievable, foreign to his experience—but Tim’s happiness warms him from the inside out. 

Nodding at a small, mostly-empty bookcase, Timmy mumbles, “I can just put that in the trunk for her, she can take everything together—” 

Nicole sighs. “Genuinely wondering if we ought to just get your books shipped.” 

“You could always store—” Armie says, then stops short. He stares down at his bowl of ramen for a few seconds, feeling himself blush. 

Timmy gently squeezes his hip. When Armie looks up, Timmy’s eyes are steady and golden, questioning. 

After a long moment, Armie nods, just a dip of the chin. 

“We could leave my books at Armie’s,” says Timmy, calmly. He picks up his mom’s and Armie’s bowls and carries them to the sink. Rinses them, then comes back for his own. “He can take care of them for a while.” 

Nicole’s gaze meets Armie’s. She watches him, and then she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Her smile is so like Tim’s, it almost takes his breath away. “Well, that’ll make things a lot easier,” she says. “We might not even have to buy another three suitcases.” 

“Mo-om,” grumbles Timmy, wrapping his arms around Armie’s waist from behind. He presses his grin into Armie’s back. 

Armie rests his hand on Timmy’s arm. “I’ll wash up—” 

Nicole shakes her head, turning to look at the puppies. They’ve moved to the sofa, curled tightly together in a nest of towels. Livs is snoring softly. “You guys should get these two home.” 

Timmy yawns. “Same again tomorrow, huh?” 

“La même chose que toutes les nuits, Minus,” says Nicole, catching the yawn. 

Armie feels Timmy smile again, between his shoulder blades. 

*

“You only watched _ Pinky and the Brain _in French?” Armie asks curiously, as they wait for the puppies to do their business on the grass outside of his apartment building. 

Timmy shrugs. “Yeah. I didn’t even know it was American for the longest time.” 

“But the dubbing—” 

“I mean, they’re cartoon mice. The cartoon mouse mouths could be saying anything, dude—”

“‘Dude’—” 

_ “Boyfriend.” _ Timmy punches Armie very gently in the chest.

“Boyfriend.” Armie pulls Timmy closer and kisses him on the forehead; tucks an errant curl behind his ear. Timmy pouts until Armie kisses him on the lips, too. “Better,” Armie murmurs. 

Timmy bites his lip, but then his gaze shifts, and he giggles. “Livs is pooping behind you.” 

Armie snorts a laugh. _ “Puppies. _ Fuck. The romance is real.” 

*

“Are you going to tell your mom more about—us?” asks Armie, once they’re sitting on the bed. Still fully clothed, not yet ready to sleep. “About—our plans?”

Timmy has Armie’s laptop open in front of him. He’s reading through the details of each acting course, chewing his bottom lip and fiddling with the sleeve of Armie’s hoodie. Distracted, he looks up. “Huh?” 

“Your mom. Are you going to tell her why I offered to keep your books?” 

Timmy looks at him searchingly. “I mean, I guess she got why? Like, she must have figured out we’re going to keep—dating, but…” he takes a breath. “If you’re happy for me to, then. Uh. I usually tell her most stuff, so…” His voice is carefully neutral. 

Armie swallows. “Yeah,” he says, as firmly as he can manage. “I’d—yes.” 

Timmy bites his lip again, this time against a smile. “Cool.” He transfers his gaze back to the laptop. “I love the sound of this one. It has a bunch more contact hours than—” he flicks to another tab, “—this one, and I feel like at the start it’s kind of important to just be in the room. Not that this one’s not—like, you should totally still take it, but if you’re figuring out the order—” 

Armie nods and shuffles closer, slipping an arm around Timmy’s waist. 

“Hey, look.” Timmy leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand. “Guess what’s like, three blocks away from my parents’ place in the city.” On Maps, he’s pinned a ‘Want to Go’ flag.

Armie frowns at it, then laughs. “Oh. Uh-huh. You’re not letting this go, then.” 

Timmy grins. “You know I’m not. I _ will _see you in leathers, Doug, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

Armie grimaces. “Fucking—_ Doug. _ Doug probably only wears sealskin pants. From seals he killed with his own bare hands.” 

Snorting a laugh, Timmy leans against Armie’s side. “So. Test-drive, yeah? I’ll go with you.” 

Armie grabs his laptop, and types. “I don’t _ think _they’ll sell what I actually want.” He turns the screen to Timmy again. 

“Oh, shit.” Timmy scrolls until he finds a video, then watches, fascinated, for a few seconds. _ “Vintage _ motorbikes?” 

Armie sighs. “Fuck yeah.” He clicks into one listing. “Here. The dream.” 

Timmy reads the details, then smiles. “Okay, well none of this means anything to me, but I sure want to see you ride it.” 

Smiling, Armie pulls him close, tucking him against his side. “Can’t say I’d object to having you on the back of my bike.” 

“Filthy.” 

Armie gives him a look. “Little fucker.” 

“You look so surprised, babe. Every time. Makes it extra worth it,” Timmy giggles. 

“You and your misleadingly angelic face.” Armie sets the laptop aside on the nightstand and pulls Timmy bodily into his lap. “Gets me every time.” 

Timmy shifts so he can straddle Armie, clinging with arms and legs to his waist, his shoulders. He groans, rolling his neck. _ “Fuck _ packing. I feel like I went to the gym—” Armie huffs a laugh, and Timmy whacks him lightly on the shoulder. “No need to like, _ actually _laugh at the very idea—” 

Armie snorts another laugh into the soft pale skin at Timmy’s throat. _ You’re perfect. _ He closes his eyes; breathes Timmy in. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to go to the gym.” It feels so good to say the words, to just let his thoughts _ be. _ Something loosens in his chest. When he looks up, Timmy’s expression is raw and vulnerable, and Armie marvels again at his freedom, at the way he lets himself be _ seen. _

_ Was he always showing me what he felt? Was I just too dumb to understand? _

Nuzzling one of Timmy’s neck freckles, Armie feels the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He wants to feel the working of every part of Timmy’s body; wants to listen to his heart, feel his hair grow, watch the play of muscles flexing beneath pale skin. 

“The ridiculousness of _ you _ telling _ me _that,” mumbles Timmy. His eyelashes flutter closed; his voice is a little rough. He presses his lips to Armie’s upper lip, to the corner of his mouth. 

“Let me give you a massage,” murmurs Armie. He pats Timmy’s hip. “C’mon, baby. Up.” 

Timmy complies, kneeling up— “Should be me giving _ you _a massage after you helped me all day—”

Armie’s hands are eager as he helps Timmy remove clothing piece by piece. “Can’t believe _ this _is the hoodie you’ve decided to steal. It’s so old.” He kisses Timmy’s stomach as sweatshirt and t-shirt are discarded, dropped over the edge of the bed. 

“Smells of you,” mumbles Timmy. He bites his lip as Armie manhandles him out of his jeans, his boxers. He’s more than half hard. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, maybe. If. I keep it, when—” 

Armie presses his forehead to Timmy’s side, to the hard bands of his ribs. Takes a breath. “Baby. You can take whatever you want. Doesn’t have to be something old and ratty.” He fights to keep his voice light, swallowing against the absence which hasn’t hit yet, but which yawns beyond Monday. 

Leaving a kiss on Timmy’s hipbone, he leans into the familiar sweep of Timmy’s fingers through his hair. 

“I love it though.” Timmy obeys the urging of Armie’s hands, lying down on his front. Pillows his head on his arms. Sighs, wriggling his hips, getting comfortable despite his erection. 

Armie moves to lean over him on hands and knees. Kisses Timmy’s nape, freckle to freckle, a well-known constellation by now. “So beautiful,” he breathes, because he can. Because he’s _ allowed. _Because he’s told Timmy the biggest thing—the thing he thought would have to stay a secret—and now he wants to tell him everything, even if it’s not always easy. 

Armie focuses on every movement, on every bit of Timmy’s body as he massages. Listens to the hitches in Timmy’s breath, the soft noises in his throat; listens eventually to his breathing lengthen, wondering if he’s fallen asleep. 

_ I’m hard again. Just from touching him. _Armie places a soft kiss between Timmy’s shoulder blades, and it’s meant to be an end to the massage, but it feels good and he kisses again, an inch lower, and again, until he reaches the base of Timmy’s spine—

—and Timmy takes an almost-silent breath, not moving at all—

Armie’s stomach kicks with arousal, and he kisses Timmy’s tailbone again, brushing fine light hairs, finding a freckle to lavish attention on. 

“Armie…” breathes Timmy, at last. He shifts his hips, just a little, and his voice sounds like a plea. 

Armie presses a smile to Timmy’s hipbone; reaches down to adjust himself quickly, because _ fuck, _ he’s hard. Settles himself on the bed, and runs his hands up the backs of Timmy’s thighs; parts those small asscheeks, starting to tease kisses between them. Backs off when Timmy gasps, brushing his stubble-rough chin to Timmy’s pale thighs, making him squirm and sigh and say _ Armie _again so prettily that he relents. 

The first soft lick across Timmy’s entrance brings a deep little gasp that makes Armie want to rut against the mattress; and the noises only get better as Armie begins to build a rhythm to his movements.

Last time he did this, Timmy was drunk, and loud, and swore a lot; this time he hardly says a word, but his moans are desperate, bitten-off pleas for more, always _ more. _

Before long Timmy’s thighs are trembling, and his hips have found a quick staccato roll that gives him friction between every swipe of Armie’s tongue— 

When Armie presses the tip of his finger to Timmy’s hole there’s a guttural little moan that has Armie’s cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. Slowly, carefully, Armie slides his finger in; he kisses and laps around it, and Timmy moans again, hips lifting slightly. 

It doesn’t take long until Timmy’s gasps are timed with every slide of Armie’s finger, with every light circling touch inside; until Timmy is thrusting up to meet Armie’s movements, body drawn tight with tension, betrayed by each panting breath—

Slim fingers clenched in dark curls, forehead pressed to the mattress, Timmy moans Armie’s name, moans a _ please, please, I’m so— _

Armie spits in his palm; slips his hand between Timmy’s body and the mattress. Curls his long fingers around the base of Timmy’s cock and doesn’t expect the intensity of his reaction, the desperation of his grateful groan. 

“Show me, baby. Show me how much you need it.” 

Timmy moves, then; fucks the tight circle of Armie’s hand, pressing back onto his finger with every stroke and moaning, lost, until Armie’s name is the only recognizable word and then he’s bucking, coming into Armie’s hand, into the mattress. 

He rides it out until he shivers and twitches and pulls at his own hair, hands falling away with a heavy _ thud _onto the pillows. 

“Fuck…” Timmy mumbles, as Armie gently pulls his finger out. 

And Armie’s expecting exhaustion, maybe the sleepy-sweet Timmy he’s got used to walking to the bathroom, but instead Timmy rolls onto his back, grinning, and swipes a finger through the mess on the bed, on his own stomach. Grabs his t-shirt from the floor and wipes himself down some. 

He kisses Armie’s palm, licking away his own come as he holds Armie’s gaze. 

Armie kneels, watching, and his cock throbs in his jeans. 

Timmy wrestles Armie’s zipper open and _ it’d be easier if he took my jeans off which means he’s doing it this way for a reason, and I think he likes me being fully clothed while he’s naked. _

_ Which makes sense. That totally makes sense, remember when you worked at home and he— _

He saves that piece of information for later but then Armie can’t think anymore because Timmy’s mouth is warm and perfect and his hand is slick and _ he licked his own come off my hand so he’s sucking me with himself, and when I come on his tongue we’ll be there together, together— _

Armie groans and puts his hands on Timmy’s face, traces the lines of his jaw with both thumbs, rubs fingertips into his curls, his nape, holds his head without pushing, but he _ holds, _ and Timmy’s eager green gaze is an unequivocal _ yes _ and Armie knows he has time, now, he has _ time _to learn every single thing Timmy likes, to learn to push more, take control more, to fuck his mouth and pull out and have Timmy open his lips and let Armie tease himself on his tongue, let Armie come across his lips, in the hollow at the base of his throat—

_ Anywhere. Everywhere. Always. With you. _

And Armie comes watching his boyfriend’s green eyes, his pink stretched lips, the flutter of his eyelashes and the quick pull of his breath; comes watching until he has to let his eyes close because everything’s too much, too _ much— _

They curl together on the bed and Timmy kisses Armie with tongue, with the taste of their mingled come. 

“Dignified,” laughs Armie, nodding at his cock still poking from the zipper of his jeans. 

Timmy snorts a giggle, running one finger across Armie’s belt. “Hot. You meant hot, right?” 

Armie scrunches up his face. “Did I?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Timmy nods and kisses him again. “You’re good at massage.” 

“I really meant to just massage you,” says Armie, on a laugh. _ “Really,” _ he insists, when Timmy gives him a look. “I thought you were asleep at one point.” 

Timmy grins. Nudges his nose against Armie’s, and hesitates for a breath. “You can be rougher with me, you know,” he mumbles, cheeks tinting pink. “Like—yeah. I just—trust you.” 

Slowly, Armie nods. “I know. I’m still—I’ll get there.” 

“I’m not complaining. Fuck, at _ all. _ Just. I want you to know that it’s—it’s all good. I love everything we do.” He blinks, and then a huge grin spreads across his face. “I love _ you.” _

Armie swallows. He shakes his head, trying to suppress his own answering grin. “Shit. I love you too.” 

“Forgot I could say it now,” whispers Timmy, breathing in against Armie’s jaw. 

_ He wanted to say it. He wanted to say it too. _

Another little something inside Armie unwinds as he says, “Fucking—_ hurt, _holding it in—” 

“I know, I know, I always felt like I was gonna just accidentally—” Timmy shakes his head, and his laugh sounds raw, more than a little vulnerable. 

Armie pulls him in, fingers slipping into those dark curls. Kisses him slowly, biting at his lips, teasing their tongues together. 

Heads on one pillow, they watch one another, too close to focus properly. Timmy is just beautiful detail, freckles and green-gold-hazel gaze and pale skin and the sharp sweep of a cheekbone— 

“You like being naked when I’ve got all my clothes on.” 

Timmy grins. Blushes. Nods. “Don’t throw away all your work suits when you quit.” 

Armie laughs. 

“You notice things.” Timmy swipes the pad of his thumb across Armie’s lips. 

“I notice _ you.” _ Armie catches Timmy’s hand; kisses the thumb. Kisses the palm. “C’mon. Time for me to put my dick away and brush my teeth.” 

And Armie loves Timmy’s laugh more than anything. 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are doing okay. Lots of love and gratitude to you for reading, as always. Stay safe and well ❤️

“I’m telling you, I don’t fit in the damn tub—” 

“Yeah, but now I want you to  _ prove  _ it.” Timmy’s suppressing a giggle, fingertips slipped under the waistband of Armie’s boxers. His eyes are golden, lively with mischief. He slides his hands down, inside the fabric, and squeezes Armie’s ass. 

An electric current of arousal thrills through Armie’s veins. Why that specific thing should make him feel so  _ owned,  _ he doesn’t know. Cupping Timmy’s jaw in both hands, he rests his thumbs on Timmy’s neck; sees the feeling spark excitement in those green eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass, Hal.” 

_ “Your _ pain in the ass, Doug.” Timmy says it against Armie’s lips, on tiptoes. 

Armie can’t help smiling as they kiss. “Fine. You want to see a large man sticking out of a bathtub in multiple directions, that’s—fine. Whatever. You’re weird.” 

“Why didn’t you buy an apartment with a huge tub, then?” asks Timmy, easing Armie’s boxers down, hands skimming his hips, goosebumps in their wake. 

Armie shrugs. “I never really thought about using it.” 

Timmy makes a play of pushing the boxers all the way off; presses a kiss to Armie’s left hipbone. Lets his curls brush teasingly across Armie’s mostly-soft cock. 

Armie rubs his hands over Timmy’s shoulders, stepping out of the boxers. “You’re going to try and get both of us in there.” 

Timmy giggles, arms stealing around Armie’s neck. He’s already naked, and he presses their skin together with a soft relieved sigh. “I love to bathe.” 

“I know you do.” Armie holds him close. Strokes a hand through the mess of bedhead curls, lost in the moment. Imagines taking Timmy to Japan, to a private onsen, and watching him luxuriate in hot-spring baths. “Well what you’re  _ about  _ to do is have a slightly damp hug with your boyfriend in a tub. There won’t be any water left if we’re both in there.” 

Timmy giggles against Armie’s collarbone. “Quit being an asshole and get in.” He sneaks a hand down and squeezes Armie’s ass again.

Armie rolls his eyes. Leans a hand on the edge of the tub and tests the temperature with a toe. “Holy shit, Tim—” he looks around. “Do you  _ actually  _ climb into water this hot, or—” 

“It’s not that hot—”

“It’s  _ burning  _ me—”

“Oh my god.” Timmy giggles, leaning over to turn on the cold water. "If  _ my  _ skin is fine with it, yours definitely will be—" 

"I'm pretty sure you shed a layer of skin after every bath. Like a snake." 

Timmy's arms steal around Armie's waist, and he hugs him from behind in something like pure glee at the pretended fight. “How I keep my skin so soft.” Leaning down, he dabbles his fingers in the water. "Now it's  _ cold,  _ do you think you can get in? Or—" 

Armie pokes him. "It's still a  _ barely  _ tolerable temperature." 

Timmy giggles, slapping Armie gently on the hip. "Such a  _ baby."  _

"Mmm." Armie turns around and captures Timmy's lips in a kiss. "Baby." 

Timmy nibbles gently at Armie’s bottom lip, then rubs the tips of their noses together. “Get in the damn tub.” 

Armie rolls his eyes and sighs as he slowly lowers himself into the water. “You need to take the plug out while you get in. It’ll overflow.” 

“You don’t even stick out that much, it’s just your knees. Such a fucking  _ fuss,  _ I swear—” 

Armie pokes him in the knee. “Get the fuck in here.” 

“You’ve changed your tune.” Timmy says, planting his feet between Armie’s knees. “I’ll be so proud if I make you love luxurious baths.” 

Laughing, Armie takes Timmy’s hands, guiding him down. He spreads his knees as wide as possible. “How come you love them so much?” 

“I do my best thinking in the bath.” 

“Oh. Uh-huh? Yeah?” 

TImmy wriggles back against Armie, settling against his chest, resting his head back onto his shoulder. “I practice lines.” 

Armie can’t help but laugh. He presses a kiss to Timmy’s temple. “So somewhere with a great tub is top of the list in New York, huh?” For a second his heart lurches, like he might have said too much— _ but he agreed to keep seeing me, he agreed we’re boyfriends— _

Timmy presses his forehead to Armie’s jaw, and takes a breath. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re going to be house hunting in the city.” He skims his palms along Armie’s thighs underwater. “I keep like…making it not real in my head.” 

“Ha. Me too.” Armie runs his hand slowly across Timmy’s stomach. “You know, I think I remember my dad saying, ‘a bath is just soaking in your own mess’. Pretty sure that’s why I don’t think about them.” 

“Shit, man, it’s not like we’re pissing in here—”

“Oh, have you  _ not  _ been? Because—” Armie laughs at the light slap to his arm. 

Timmy pushes his face against Armie’s neck. “Dick.” More soberly, he adds, “you don’t have to get a tub just for me…” 

Armie can hear the tentativeness in Timmy’s voice.  _ He’s nervous about making me feel pressured, maybe? Like I'm not moving across the country just to be near him.  _ “I’ll need some way to lure you to my apartment,” says Armie, and he feels Timmy smile. 

“Lure, huh?” Timmy’s hand wanders up the inside of Armie’s thigh, teasing friction beneath the water. “Pretty sure there are already a few good incentives…” his fingers brush lightly across Armie’s balls. 

Armie sighs at the sensation. “Oh yeah?” he murmurs into Timmy’s temple, voice deep. 

“Mm.” Timmy looks up at him through his eyelashes, hand shifting to press against Armie’s hardening cock. “I can think of some.” 

“Fuck,” mumbles Armie. Then, “that angle seems awkward.” 

Timmy giggles, rolling his head to the side to grin up at Armie. “I love you.” 

An unstoppable answering grin tugs at Armie's lips. “Why—” 

“Because I’m trying to jerk you off and you’re just worried about my arm.” 

Armie laughs. Kisses Timmy on the nose. “Well. I love your arm.” 

“My skinny gangly arms,” Timmy says, wrinkling his nose. 

“If you can’t be nice about your arms, shut up about them.”

Timmy’s fingers brush lightly against the base of Armie’s cock. He’s teasing, but only absently. There’s a pensive look on his face, and he bites his lip. “I didn’t.” He swallows, then finds Armie’s gaze. “I didn’t…before you, after…everything that happened with—Léo, I.” Taking a breath, he seems to find the words. “I didn't even know if I was like, attractive anymore, or.” 

The words feel like a body shock, sudden and unexpected. Armie speaks lightly, though. “Then you met me and realized you’d reduced me to a babbling fucking mess in seconds with zero effort whatsoever?” 

“Zero effort? Dude. I’ll have you know I really dressed up for that puppy class.” 

Armie grins. More seriously, he holds Timmy’s gaze. “I mean. You know now that you’re fucking stunning, right? Or am I a shitty boyfriend—”

Timmy half-laughs, craning up for a kiss. “You’re ridiculous.” He sobers. “Just…he left me with, like, no idea if…I just felt like if he wanted to cheat on me, then I wasn’t—I guess he just got bored of me? And my body? And…” he shakes his head, frowning at himself. “Anyway. I don’t know why I’m fucking—ruining  _ this _ with talking about  _ him _ now—” 

Armie hugs him closer. “I’d rather talk about it,” he says, quickly. “I.” He swallows. “I kind of…always worried—worry I can’t live up to what you had with him. So.” He speaks quietly, but the tiled walls of the bathroom make his words echo louder than he would have liked. 

Timmy gives a disbelieving little huff of laughter. "Are you  _ kidding?" _ He shifts his head on Armie's shoulder, looking up at him. "Seriously now, babe. I—no. No. Just—fucking—no." 

"But that was the end," says Armie, staring at the corner of one tile, the slightly uneven grout. "You know? The end was bad, and—fuck, I hate him for what he did to you, but—but before that, you introduced him to your parents, and you moved across the country to be with him—" there's a lump in his throat, and he swallows against it.

Timmy sighs. Turns his head to press his lips against the underside of Armie's jaw. "Yeah, I mean…I don't know. Now it feels like there were a bunch of signs, you know? These—signals that I should've listened to. Like, it feels like I just had this big romantic idea of what the relationship was, and I didn't even stop and look at the reality." He half-shakes his head. "Of course we were happy, you know? But sometimes we also really, really weren't. Or like—when I look at this, now, I just—realize I  _ never _ shared as much of myself with him as I have with you. And I was trying to be—to guard myself, with you, right? Shit, maybe that sounds bad, but—but I felt like I didn't have any trust left at that point, and I just…" he reaches up, back, touching Armie's cheek, his chin. "But you—you listen to me. You always listen to what I have to say. To what I  _ want." _

Armie closes his eyes, turns his head, and presses a kiss to Timmy's fingers, his palm. 

_ You showed me ways to be happy I didn't even know existed.  _

"I never shared myself either," he murmurs, into Timmy's hand. "You know that, I guess." Swallowing, he searches for the right words. They're just a murmur. "I was happy, mostly. But it was that kind of happiness that's just…it's daily contentment, with small things. Shit you buy, or whatever. Not—this is. It was nothing  _ bigger  _ than that." 

_ This is so much bigger than that.  _

_ Half of me was missing all the time.  _

He presses the thought into a kiss to Timmy's wrist. 

"But I'm glad I did come here, even with him," murmurs Timmy. "Or I might never have met you."

The words are a chill down Armie's spine. He tightens his arm across Timmy's belly. "Don't." Then, "we would've met somewhere. New York. For work. Like you said, remember? Me throwing coffee over you in the street, then buying you a croissant. Right?" 

Timmy huffs a laugh into Armie's neck. "Yeah. And I'm sure we would've still ended up in a tub together. But I'm still glad it was here. Exactly like this." 

"Hmm, really," murmurs Armie, smiling as he kisses next to Timmy's nose. "You would've come back to my hotel, huh?" 

Timmy giggles. "Fuck, yeah. I mean, not going to lie—you could've had me that first night after puppy class, if you wanted." 

Armie grins. Nibbles at Timmy's cheek. "Shit, I'm flattered." Then, "I still don't know why you hung out with me. I was a fucking mess. Wanting you, not doing anything about it…" 

"Because I  _ liked  _ you, dumbass." Timmy sighs, reaching up and back to scrunch his hand in Armie's hair. "Because I like you." He grins. "Also, you're  _ very  _ pretty. And your puppy's cute." 

Huffing a laugh, Armie runs both hands down to Timmy's hips, his thighs. "Thanks, Arch." 

"I didn't—" Timmy hesitates, changes course in the sentence, biting his bottom lip. "I meant it, then. When I said I wasn't expecting anything from you. I didn't even expect a hookup, and like, I think when I said—you took that as me thinking you wouldn't give me anything or like, being disappointed or something, but I—just genuinely didn't know if I was anything someone would want to be with, then, and…" his voice trails off, and he shrugs. Caresses his hand through Armie's hair again. 

_ If I was anything someone would want to be with.  _ The words grow a cold, spiky feeling in Armie's chest. 

"I hate that he made you feel like that." He hooks his hands under Timmy's thighs. "I fucking hate it. And him." 

Timmy huffs a wry little laugh. "Thanks, babe." 

They're quiet for a minute. Timmy draws patterns on Armie's wrists under the water. 

"Since you love baths so much," Armie says at last, "we should go to Japan. Visit a private onsen. Pretty sure you'd like the hot springs." 

"Oh my god, have you seen that video of all the capybaras in the hot springs?" asks Timmy, looking around for his phone. "Shit, my phone's in the bedroom." 

Armie laughs. "Show me later." 

"You want to take a vacation to go public bathing?" 

"I  _ specifically  _ said a private onsen, Hal." 

Timmy presses his grin to Armie's jaw. "Wondered if you had an exhibitionist kink going on." 

Armie huffs a laugh. "Definitely a kink for teasing you in a luxurious bath. Preferably  _ not _ in front of other people." 

"Have you been to Japan?" 

"Yeah, a few years ago. And to an onsen in the national park where Mount Fuji is." 

"You're talking like you'll still be rich, Doug. But actually you'll be a starving actor, just like me." His eyes, green-gold, seek out Armie's. "How come  _ you  _ went to an onsen, you bath-hater?" 

"Liz wanted to." Armie shrugs. "She used the spa, our friends and I went hiking." He feels the tension thread through Timmy's body right away, and regrets mentioning her name. 

"I." Timmy swallows. "I guess I kind of do the same thing as you said, but about…her? I—know you're both really successful, and…" he wraps his hands around Armie's wrists. "Eight years is a long time. There must be so many good memories." 

Slowly, Armie nods. "Sure. I mean the travel was good. The money made everything comfortable. We had a beautiful home. We had barbeques and parties and…" he shrugs. "And we never got married, and the thought of kids scared me." He sighs. "But you're told that it's meant to, as a man, right? It's always, 'oh, she hasn't locked you down yet' or 'when's she going to want babies?'. I thought it was—normal. That I was just ambivalent about all of it. That everything felt comfortable, and nothing really hurt, and nothing felt exactly  _ right, _ either."

Slowly, Timmy nods. He lifts Armie's hands out of the water and threads their fingers together. Keeps his head bent, face hidden as he asks lightly, "you saying you want my babies, Doug?" 

Armie huffs a laugh. His heart is pounding. "You're twenty-one. You are  _ not _ thinking about babies." 

"That a no?" 

Armie can hardly hear himself think over the blood rushing in his ears. He swallows.  _ "Nothing _ scares me, when I think about doing it with you. And this—us—feels exactly right." He takes a breath. "But you're still twenty-one." 

"We already have furry babies, anyway," says Timmy, in a deliberately-light tone. 

"We do." Armie hugs Timmy close, their hands still tangled together. "And you're a great puppy dad."  _ I'm sure you'll be a great dad, too, one day.  _

_ I hope we're still together, whenever you want that.  _

"Pfff." Timmy huffs wryly. "I'm a ball of angst masquerading as a dog parent." 

Armie can't help but laugh. "Hey, I'm pretty sure that's what  _ all  _ parents are, right?" 

Timmy smiles. "I don't know. Maybe mine are just good at pretending." 

Armie swallows. "Your mom's—really kind." 

“She hasn’t done anything super kind, yet.” Timmy tips his head back, looking up at Armie obliquely. 

“She accepts—this. Us.”

Timmy reaches up and strokes Armie’s face. Doesn’t say anything. 

Armie knows it means  _ as she fucking should.  _

“I texted her last night. Before we went to sleep.” 

Armie looks down at him. “Yeah?” 

“About us. About—everything.” Timmy’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins. “‘Thank goodness you two aren’t being as dumb about this as I thought you might be’, was what she wrote, I think.” 

Snorting a laugh, Armie presses his lips to Timmy’s curls. “Huh. Well, she’s not wrong, is she?” 

Timmy pushes his cheek against Armie’s jaw. “So where are you taking me Saturday night?” 

Armie grins. “Nice try.” 

“I want to knooooow—” 

“No way.” 

“But you have to at least tell me what to wear—” 

“Okay, I think you’re imagining this way fancier than it actually is. It’s not fancy. Sorry, baby.” 

“I don’t need it to be  _ fancy,  _ I just need to know what to wear.” 

“You look perfect in everything. And nothing.” 

“That is not helpful.” 

“No?” Armie slides his hand under the water and strokes Timmy’s half-hard cock. It fills out under his touch. “You sure?” 

Timmy bites at Armie’s neck. “We have to get out. I’m getting cold, and my skin’s pruning up.” 

“Are you saying you’ve got a prune dick right now?” 

Timmy whacks him on the arm. “I—fuck you—” 

“Sure. Fine. Even with your prune dick.” 

“Fuck. Why did I fall for you, huh?” 

“Same thing I ask myself every. Damn. Day.” 

“Shut up, Doug. Shut the fuck up.” 

*

“Could you lift this for me—” Nicole sighs and gives up on trying to lift the heavy box of stuff for donation. “I’ll mess up my back. How he bought this much  _ stuff, _ I don’t know—”

Armie hurries over to help. “No problem. Is it going to the car?” 

“Yes. Timothée already took one down.” She gives Armie a look. “So, Saturday night, are you taking him somewhere—”

Armie chuckles. “He asked you to find out what he should wear.” 

Eyes mischievous, Nicole laughs. “You’ve got the measure of my son.” 

Armie bites his lip, and glances at the door. Tim’s not back yet. “Actually, Saturday, I—well, we, uh—Saoirse did most of the actual arrangement—we booked a booth at the bar the cast and crew of Tim’s play usually went to. Like a—going away party. I mean, it’s not exactly a party, I haven’t arranged a cake or presents or—”  _ fuck. Should I have arranged a cake, and presents? Liz would never have just booked a table— _ Armie swallows. “But—it’s a surprise. He already had a wrap party, and I guess he doesn’t think he’ll be seeing the cast and crew again before he leaves, so…” 

Nicole smiles at him. It spreads slowly across her face, warming her eyes.  _ She looks so like Tim when she smiles. _ “He’ll love that.” She says it crisply, definitively. 

“I.” Armie’s embarrassed to feel himself blushing at the approval. “I'm sure he’d love it if you were there, and I booked the puppies in with my dogsitter, so—” 

Nicole looks surprised. “With you kids?” 

Armie shrugs. “I’ve only met a couple of the crew, but from what Tim’s said quite a few of them are older. Uh—much older. Than you.” 

Nicole laughs at Armie’s floundering. “Very tactful.” 

Groaning, Armie turns to stare at the box he’s meant to be lifting. “And…I’m just going to shut up now.” He tries not to jump when Nicole places a hand in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades. 

“It was very thoughtful of you to give Timothée a chance to say goodbye to his friends here.” There’s a short pause. “I’m glad he won’t be saying goodbye to  _ you  _ for too long.” 

Armie takes a breath. “I haven’t sent in my notice yet, but—yeah.” He glances at Nicole quickly, sidelong. “I moved not too long ago, so packing up again won’t be…” he shrugs. 

Nicole’s hand leaves Armie’s back. “Well, you’ll be moving to the best city in the world, so.” 

"You know, that's firmly Tim's opinion too," smiles Armie, hefting the box into his arms. Behind him, the apartment door opens, and the puppies rush to greet Timmy as if he's been gone for hours. 

"Car's getting full," Timmy says, petting the puppies. "Off, Livs. No—no jumping up. Last trip though, maybe, right?" 

Nicole sighs a groan as she slumps onto the arm of the sofa. "Depends how tomorrow goes." 

Timmy groans too, holding the apartment door open for Armie. "Cleaning. Ugh. No, Arch, sit.  _ Sit."  _ He runs his hand down Armie's spine as he passes. "I'll come down with you, babe. Open the doors." 

_ Babe.  _ Armie notices the endearment, and this time he glows with it. 

_ His mom's glad I'm moving to New York. _

_ How can any of this be real? _

*

"Oh my god…" groans Timmy, starfished on his back across Armie's bed. 

Armie smiles, watching him from the bathroom doorway. He's brushing his teeth, leaning against the doorframe. 

"'M'fucking exhausted,  _ and _ tomorrow is just all cleaning," mumbles Timmy, picking up a pillow and pressing it over his face. 

Armie goes to spit and rinse, then strolls towards the bed. "Stop trying to end it all with that pillow." 

"But—vacuuming—"

Armie laughs. "I can vacuum for you." 

"But—scrubbing the shower—" 

Armie laughs. "Am I sensing the start of a pattern here?" 

"Cleaning the fridge…" 

"Little fucker." 

"Help me, boyfriend…" Timmy sighs, in a weak, dying voice. 

Armie snorts and clambers onto the bed. Straddles Timmy's hips and kisses his chin. "What about the oven? The oven is the worst fucking job." 

"My mom's already called dibs. She weirdly loves it." 

"What time do you have to have the key back to the agency?" 

"By five on Saturday. They'll do the inspection once I'm gone, and let me know if I'll get my deposit back. Which, probably not." 

"I haven't seen any problems—"

"Yeah, you know what rental agencies are like though. Plus Livs did kind of chew a bit of skirting board near the TV? I moved the bookcase to cover it. Maybe they won't check behind it." 

Armie laughs. "I had a college friend who kept a rabbit in her rental apartment. It would go on these digging frenzies in mating season and when she moved out she just moved a cabinet to cover a huge hole it had dug and chewed in the carpet." 

"Holy shit." Timmy giggles. "Okay well Livs isn't  _ that  _ bad." He reaches up; runs his hands slowly up and down Armie's sides. "How will you get all your stuff to the city?" 

"I'll pack up and get it sent to storage in New York," shrugs Armie. "Get a rental, have only the essentials delivered until I find a more permanent place." 

Timmy's hands splay across Armie's chest. He swallows, expression open and vulnerable. "Loads of shit to organize." 

Armie supports himself on his elbows; brackets Timmy's face with his hands. "It'll be worth it."  _ You're worth it.  _

Timmy blinks, biting his lip. 

_ I'll prove it to you, baby. Maybe it'll take years for you to believe me, but we have years.  _

_ I hope we have years. _

"Does your mom need to stay here Saturday and Sunday nights?" Armie traces his thumb along Timmy's cheekbone. 

Timmy grins. "Nope. My dad booked her a fancy hotel. She has a spa appointment Sunday." He giggles. "Think she's deliberately leaving us alone in case we want to have a sex marathon." 

"What d'you mean, 'in case'?" 

This time, Timmy laughs outright, head tipping back, heavy in Armie's hands. "Fine. For our definitely-happening sex marathon." 

"Better." Armie nuzzles Timmy's throat, kissing a freckle or two. "We should go for dinner with her, though, Sunday night? I could book us somewhere—" 

"You want to show off your boyfriend who won't be able to walk by then?" 

Armie snorts a laugh, and nips at Timmy's bottom lip. "I mean, I probably won't be able to either." 

Timmy grins softly; touches Armie's face. "It still surprises me you wanted to bottom." 

Armie half-shrugs. "I had to know what it was like. And—"  _ and I want you everywhere. I want you on every bit of me, of my skin. _ He hesitates, trying to find the words. Dares himself to the truth. "I want you—everywhere. Every way." 

Timmy's eyes melt golden-green. "We'll get tested?" he murmurs, tracing Armie's lower lip. "At home. Then we can…" 

Armie nods. Kisses Timmy slowly. Then, chest heavy, "we have to be up really early Monday. I could make an early dinner reservation." 

The corners of Timmy's mouth pull tight, pull down. He nods too. "Sounds good." Quickly, he adds, "you totally don't have to drive us—you have work, and—" 

"Of course I'm driving you." Armie shakes his head firmly. "I'll be back hours before I have to leave for work." 

Timmy wraps an arm around Armie's neck. Pulls him down into a restless, fervent kiss. There are words behind it, Armie feels sure, but they remain unspoken. The kiss spins into something breathless, almost desperate. 

"You can fuck me again," murmurs Timmy. "If you want." 

And Armie remembers earlier after their bath, spooned together on the bed—fucking Timmy slowly, teasing him until he moaned at every brush of sensation, at every languid thrust—

"Wouldn't it hurt?" he asks, pulling back to look into those heavy-lidded green eyes. "Be—I don't know—sore?" 

Timmy half-shrugs. "I mean, we'd use plenty of lube. But sometimes that feeling's kind of—nice?" His cheeks tint delicate pink. "Feels like I'm—yours. To do whatever you want with." 

There's a dark, dangerous thread of pleasure in the thought, and Armie swallows.  _ I don't want to hurt you. How can you want me to hurt you? I shouldn't want you to feel pain for me— _

Slowly, Armie kisses the corner of Timmy's mouth, his chin, his jaw, the freckle next to his adam's apple. Builds a trail of kisses downwards, worshipping each collarbone and the dip at the base of Timmy's neck. Lavishing attention on one nipple, then the other. 

Timmy groans, and buries his fingers in Armie's hair. 

By the time Armie's kissed every freckle he can find on Timmy's skinny belly and stripped away the charcoal cotton boxers, Timmy is hard. 

Armie takes him in his mouth without hesitation. Spits in his palm and works him hard, hand and mouth moving together. Tries to fit more of Timmy's length into his mouth, take him deeper, make it feel  _ better.  _

Armie's hard too, but something in him resists satisfaction. His mind runs to Monday; saying goodbye, watching Timmy walk through security, coming back here to his empty apartment with Archie—

Timmy gasps, and groans, and pulls at Armie's hair. "Babe—" 

Armie presses his eyes more tightly closed. Slows his pace slightly, but still works Timmy in long, smooth, deliberate strokes. Teases beneath the head with his tongue, finding the place that makes Timmy mutter soft curses— 

Timmy's thumb traces Armie's cheekbone, the line of his eyebrow. "You're making me feel too good, babe, you have to stop—" 

_ I don't want to stop. I just want you to feel good. I only ever want to make you feel good. _

Armie's eyes sting with tears that he can't justify at all.  _ He's not gone yet. You have days with him yet, days for this, and then you'll move to New York and there'll be plenty of time together— _

He pulls back enough to speak, but doesn't open his eyes. Tries to convey his love in a nuzzled kiss to the crease of Timmy's thigh. "You really want me to stop? I  _ want _ to make you feel good." 

"But we—you—" 

Armie grips Timmy's hips, fingertips pressed into sparse, tender flesh. He presses his words there, too. "I love this, baby." 

"Fuck. Me too." There's something unsteady in Timmy's voice, something that matches the way Armie can't open his eyes. It says:  _ whatever you want. Anything.  _

Armie takes him back in, accepting the weight of him, the size of him. Thrills to the gasped, repeated syllables of his own name in Timmy's gravelled voice. 

Timmy's fingers grip and run through Armie's hair; massage his scalp, follow the curves of his ears, caress his temples. His breathing is ragged, held, hurried. 

His hips thrust minutely, and Armie encourages it, left hand curving to the slim right hip, thumb brushing an arc across the soft inner thigh.  _ Take anything you need. Anything you want.  _

"Armie, I'm—I'll—" 

There was no need for the warning; Timmy's cock is thicker and harder in Armie's mouth, the taste of precome sharp on his tongue. Armie presses closer, takes as much of him as he can, lost in the way Timmy feels, in the sound of his quiet breathy moans. 

Timmy's little thrusts are shivery, uneven; Armie takes over, moves for him, caresses that perfect spot beneath the head with his tongue and then Timmy stills, cries out, spills helplessly into Armie's mouth as his fingers tighten in Armie's hair—

Armie swallows it all, and the word that runs through his mind is  _ hoarding,  _ nonsensical though that is.  _ He won't be any more here with you, just because you swallow his come now.  _

He wants it anyway. 

The corners of his eyes are damp. Armie takes a sharp breath as he opens them, willing himself to control.

"Babe…" Timmy stretches, arching his back and sighing out the word.  _ "Fuck." _

Armie smiles, shoving away unwanted emotion. Kisses Timmy's belly. "Yeah?" 

"Kiss me." 

"Mm." Armie smiles as Timmy wriggles down the bed to him. Lets Timmy taste himself, long and slow. 

"Let me," murmurs Timmy, brushing his lips to Armie's chin, his jaw. He moves to nuzzle Armie's neck, hand wandering until his fingers lightly brush the rigid length of Armie's cock through his boxers. "You feel good." 

"It's." Armie's fingers close around Timmy's wrist. Gently, he pulls Timmy's hand away. "Baby, it's—late. I'm—good. I'm happy. Tomorrow." 

Timmy's eyes are wide, searching. He watches Armie with surprise, almost with worry. "But…" 

The stinging urge to cry still lurks behind Armie's eyes, and in his throat. He smiles, calmly, and kisses Timmy's hand. "Seriously. I'm good." Then, "we're not all twenty-one, you know." 

"You're not even thirty—" chides Timmy, rolling his eyes. But he rests his head on Armie's chest, not attempting to touch him again. "I love your heart," he says, after a minute. "Listening to it." 

Armie closes his eyes, and buries his hand in Timmy's hair. "Same. Yours too." 

"I love when you talk and I can listen to the rumble." 

Armie huffs quiet laughter. "Like this?" 

"Yeah. But more." Timmy's voice is full of a smile. 

Armie moves, pulling Timmy with him. Arranges them under the duvet, guiding Timmy back onto his chest. Grabs  _ Midnight's Children  _ from the nightstand, and starts to read. 

Timmy hums approval and settles himself more comfortably, ear pressed to Armie's chest. "You're getting near the end of the book." 

"Curse broken." 

"Knew you could do it, Doug. Now you just have to make me read  _ Candide." _

Armie smiles. "I'll bribe you." 

"Ooh. What with?" 

"...various things." 

Timmy huffs, and Armie feels him smile. "Alright then. Keep your secrets." 

"Nerd." 

"Nerd for knowing that was nerdy." 

"Go to sleep, nerd." 

"Keep reading, then." 

Armie smiles, and picks up the book. 


End file.
